Scrapyard: Ranma
by Krahae
Summary: Once more with feeling! False starts and failed ideas that never really caught; here's where I'll be putting the odd bits and pieces that I almost decided to continue, but not quite. Some of these may be revisited, but its unlikely. But not impossible. Mostly Ranma-centric.
1. Chapter 1

I've resisted the urge to build a scrap file for a while now. Since '09 in fact.

The simple matter of it all is, I'm a perfectionist. I don't like having unfinished work made public. It feels rude of me, and by the simple act of these things existing, I'm proven – at least in a sense – a failure and liar. These are things I never finished, that I put so much time and thought and work into, but never took past some critical point. They make me a liar, in that they're unfinished and there's this tacit we writers make when publishing a work, that we'll finish it. Why start a story you'll never finish?

Ranma ½ is a fandom I enjoy, for various reasons. Oddly enough, romantic comedy isn't one of them. I'm not sure what I could explain my draw to as, outside of contexts that would make many uncomfortable.

That aside, these are the odd source notions, unfinished bits and bobs, and false starts that sometimes became something else, or just didn't become anything at all.

Anyway. On with it. First up–

—

Premise: I watched Bakemonogatari and thought to myself… I know someone that would most _definitely_ end up like Black Hanekawa. But, I didn't want it to be a crossover with that, so much as a nuanced crossover of another type. Tsuruko will show up again in another work, but I'll let that happen on its own.

Summary: The peculiar has a gravity all its own. What some blame on chaos, others see clearly as the physics of the unnatural. Some spend their life after encountering the peculiar trying to deny its touch. Others embrace it willingly.

—

_**Stress Fracture**_

Within the border of the Greater Tokyo Area to the northwest was a special ward, something akin to a suburb or subdivision, named Nerima. These wards were considered for most purposes the same as individual cities, and as such under Japanese law, were given a certain degree of autonomy. The Nerima council has, for instance, the ability to pass laws relevant only to Nerima, and enforceable only within Nerima, within certain limits defined by national law. This autonomy allowed local governments the ability to resolve and settle most situations that were not of a critical nature or beyond a local scope without tying up centralized resources.

This is essentially why the residents of Nerima never considered the situations surrounding the Tendo dojo and its subsequent involvements to be outside of the usual scope. As Tendo Soun was on the ward's council, and an influential member at that, he had proposed a certain lenience toward martial artists within the ward, which had been approved by his peers. In many ways, this benefited the ward – many businesses and economic situations relying on various martial arts legacies moved to the area to better take advantage of that lenience.

Alternately, it was also the source of much consternation for the local population that had no martial inclination, for obvious reasons. The influx of talented practitioners of various physical arts reduced the overall crime and delinquency rates significantly, at the cost of public disorder that was mostly unknown in other parts of the country. The uncommon sight of a street brawl to settle a problem became commonplace, while police and civil discipline presences took on an all-time low. For this reason, it became something of an unstated situation in Nerima that the martial artists most closely tied to the ward council – those responsible – should take on such roles. This worked quite well for some time, and still does to this day.

After the death of his wife, however, Tendo's interaction with both the ward council and his duties as a martial artist in the social structure he had enabled ebbed to near nonexistence, in parallel to what occurred similarly to his dojo. No longer taking an active, strong role in the council, it fell to those who were capable, or those with purpose, to pick up the slack.

And so it came to be that the Kuno family established itself as an influential – if eccentric – part of Nerima's infrastructure. With significant moneys acquired through business situations dating back to the end of the Zaibatsus at the end of World War II, the Kuno family made its mark by funding various improvements to the ward. Those improvements made Nerima more attractive to non-martial families and businesses, while remaining the actions of the ward, rather than the family. They were far from countering the previous actions of the council, rather feeling there was a lack that needed to be addressed. However, those that understood the politics behind it, knew the direction the wind was blowing. Such donations and activities stirred old memories of feudal lords and their fiefdoms, sowing the seeds for the behavior of the generation growing up in that ward. Those impressions were only helped along as the Kuno family had historical ties like many to bloodlines that could claim samurai heritage, and being one of the handful of Nerima's landowners, fit the position rather well.

On a wider scope Nerima flourished, with its factories supplying electronic components, its historical farming of cabbage and daikon, and its peculiar welcoming stance toward martial legacies and the inevitable clashes they engendered between themselves. The day to day lives within Nerima could be considered strange by some outside its borders, but within, the long-held tradition of Japanese culture to embrace the normal, had been tainted by the peculiar. As the saying goes, "When the world has gone mad, only the sane will populate the asylum."

It must be remembered, however, that the peculiar has a gravity all its own. It attracts the strange, the unusual, the aberrant to itself. It was therefore no surprise to some, that Nerima became a hotbed of the chaotic, supernatural, and unusual. That did not mean, however, that a watch was lacking on those elements.

–

"Damn it!"

The punch hit true, rendering the struck portion of one of the few old-growth trees in the park into so much mulch and kindling. With a groaning roar the majestic tree seemed to realize its suddenly mortal state, shuddering, falling with a crash. The ever-present sound of cicadas rose to a crescendo and suddenly stilled at the violent noise, as if punctuating it. Wide-spread limbs snapped and seemed to flail at the air, as the upper reaches of the great tree slowly listed to the side, catching on neighboring oaks and pines as if to deny the inevitable.

With a thundering crash, the massive trunk hit the ground, followed by the creaking whines of the many limbs settling to new gravity as they finally stilled.

Standing nearby, a young man in a worn, patched, travel-stained yellow tunic ignored the tableau, as he was too caught up in his own thoughts. "I can't believe I screwed up that badly. Damn!"

Another punch, this one aimed at the ground, sent a shock through the park's standing trees and grasses. Like a ripple in a pond, the pressure sent out waves that set what few birds and animals that had not fled to foot or wing, as the abandoned their homes and places of rest. "Damn you, Ranma. Damn that idiot father of yours, damn the wedding, damn... just..." with a sigh, the young man slumped to the ground.

"Should have just stayed away. I know Nabiki's tips are just her making trouble. Should have known it would end up like this. It always does."

It was just so hard to keep a clear head around Saotome. He knew, after years now being around the other martial artist, that it was just Genma's influence on his son, but the things he said... how much he'd been a part of the worst parts of his life, Akane...

"Damn it!" Another punch rocked the ground, as Ryoga Hibiki thought back on the actions of the previous week. Despite the failing sunlight, he made no move to return to the city proper, being just as comfortable and familiar with the wilderness – even a false one like the park – as a house or hotel. Perhaps more so.

"Now Akane's mad at me, the water is gone... I can't even blame this on Ranma."

"Hnnn, it's good you're learning, nyah," a voice from where the fallen tree had come to rest chimed in, a playful lilt to its clearly feminine voice.

Ryoga rolled to his feet, glaring about into the spreading gloom. "Who's there?" Branches shifted as a shadowed figure darted through them silently. Losing track of the figure, Ryoga kept his attention loose, eyes scanning the shadows for movement.

A rustle to his left was answered by a thrown bandanna, and a mocking laugh from his rear-right. "Nyaa..." the voice drawled, "Ryoga-nyan. Always jumping ahead, it's a wonder your nose isn't flat by now, nishishi..."

That mocking voice reminded Ryoga too much of Ranma's jibes, despite the vastly different tone, and the seemingly childish use of catlike noises. That alone guaranteed it wasn't the pigtailed martial artist – anything resembling cats was treated as taboo. Regardless, the similarity burned, pushing the often-lost martial artist into a near rage. "Come out here! Stop hiding like a coward!"

"Hnnn," the voice hummed again, from above in the trees this time. More bandannas thrown did little more than break Ryoga's concentration as he was pelted by the resulting falling branches and limbs. "Coward, am I? Nyuu... we all hide behind something, Ryoga-nyan."

"Tch," taking a chance, Ryoga threw three of his sharpened weapons, one at the voice, and one each to either of his flanking sides.

"Nishishi... Not bad. Not close, but better," the catty voice taunted, seeming to come from all around. "But you're still hiding, so I'll stay nice and cozy over here."

"Are you calling me a coward?!" The sudden silence of the darkened trees made the hairs on the back of Ryoga's neck stand on end, stalling his rage. The voice, coming from just behind him as a pair of small, lithe, steel-strong arms wrapped around him did little to dismiss that sudden anxiety.

There was no playfulness in the voice. Only a deadly, predatory anticipation. "Yes. The worst sort."

Ryoga had just a moment to try and unscramble his brain, flailing mentally for focus despite the _very_ feminine figure pressed against his back. It wasn't fast enough, however, to let him react to the sudden burst of what felt like lightning coursing over his body. Unlike actual electricity, the lightning didn't cause his muscles to seize as he'd expected, which was why Ryoga had a telling moment of confusion that his ki-reinforced muscles started feeling immediately taxed. That moment was all he had, as that same ki was ripped away by the draining lightning. "Grrrnnnngh!"

"The kind that hides behind his own delusions," the catty voice explained in seeming disinterest, as the figure let Ryoga's twitching, drained form fall to the ground. "Tch."

–

"Curious. It is rare that those outside the Organization are called on to address these matters, in recent times." With a sigh, the man took off the narrow reading glasses he'd been wearing, looking to where his wife stood, staring out at the evening as it bloomed, spreading fiery tones across the walls of the room. In the harsh red glare, her black hair and fine skin seemed otherworldly, with her white kimono painted in phantom, bloody hues. The image passed quickly, but left the man somber.

He was not one for seeing omens, but for some reason, that moment would haunt him for many years to come.

Yomiko Aoyama favored her husband Ishiro with a raised brow, noting his distraction, before smiling gently as she moved to close the sliding panels that framed the room. That smile was a small gesture, easily missed if one wasn't quite familiar with her, but she knew he would see it. He was a kind looking man, not hard and sharp like her father and uncle had been. Where those men – whom she regarded with the utmost respect – had severe faces that clearly rarely bore a smile, Ishiro had the crow's feet about his eyes and faint creases about his mouth that spoke of a mirthful soul. Yomiko knew that she lacked those things, taking much from her father in that regard, so it was fitting in her mind that her husband had them.

As she moved to turn on the lights in their rooms to ward off the evening gloom, she replied, "Not so, really. For all that the _Taima soshiki's_ four families have been sufficient to deal with the various aberrations that have cropped up historically, things are different now."

Putting down the missive he'd been reading over once the light had dimmed in the room, the middle-aged man regarded his wife attentively as she spoke of Japan's Demon Hunter Association. As a man who had married into the family whose name he now bore, it wasn't unusual that he had less comprehensive knowledge of the world in which the Aoyamas sometimes worked. He was, after all, from a different world for all practical purposes. As had happened for generations, he had been chosen to marry by his clan's and the Shinmei-ryū's elders not for his martial abilities, but for his management skills. It was a common arrangement, he understood, between his own house of long-standing advisors to various important personages, and some of the more esoteric clans. The combination of keen intellect and honed combat skills made for rather capable children, after all, and that was one of the points of such arrangements. Another was the division of ability – his skills ensured the clan's interests and internal welfare was seen to, while Yomiko carried on the traditions of the sword and skill, as Shihan – the primary teacher and instructor – of the Shinmei School.

Politically, his marriage to Yomiko Aoyama had been one of many gestures of alliance cementing the relationship between the Konoe clan – distant relations to the fabled Fujiwara – and the elite masters of the sword. There were other clans that they both intermarried and held alliance with, but within Kyoto, it was primarily the Konoe that the Aoyamas found themselves working alongside.

In the same way that his clan was trusted to manage and oversee the household affairs and various clan business that such marriages required when it came to clan heads like Yomiko, who were also responsible for their martial legacies, he trusted her when it came to the various mysteries of the world. The Aoyamas were an old clan, steeped in arcane lore, mysterious practices, and frightening experiences. Their bloodline was often called on for various activities, from hunting errant spirits to assisting the practitioners of what was called Eastern Magic – a tradition of magecraft that was grounded in Onmyōdō and other mysteries. As a child and young adult he had been educated in such things, once the arrangement was made when he was ten. That allowed him time to mentally prepare for the world he would become embroiled in, eventually.

The reality of it was much harder to accept, years of preparation notwithstanding. Tending to his wife's injured and beaten body after a few of her more brutal assignments, while she maintained that cool, steel-hard aloofness that came to the fore when she held a sword, really drove that reality home to him however. The bloodstained water of the bath, her ripped and stained clothes, and the wounds that would have killed a lesser man or woman; such was testament to that separate seeming existence. What others considered fanciful tales and fictional stories, his wife lived and nearly died by. A world inhabited by magic, monsters, demons, and spirits. A moonlit world of dangerous wonder.

"The four families of the _Taima soshiki._" Yomiko began, drawing Ishiro's attention once more, "Fujou, Nanaya, Asagami, Ryougi. The Fujou are essentially a dead clan, as only branch families remain, and they lack the skills of the main line. The Nanaya were lost years ago, to a conflict between themselves and an opposing clan, the Tohno." At the mention of those families, Yomiko shook her head sadly, reminiscing over memories from her childhood. "Of the Asagami, all that currently remains is a young woman the same age as our eldest, but where Tsuruko has been trained extensively, the Asagami are little more than a privileged family of land owners and businessmen – not that there's anything wrong with that," she offered, flashing a smile to her husband.

Ishiro rolled his eyes at his wife's antics. "And the fourth family? The Ryougi?"

At the mention of the name, Yomiko's warm expression dimmed. "They," she began, before shaking her head. "There are problems currently with the Ryougi. Their methods are... harsher, than our own. Less humane. Currently, they have no one to represent them, for all practical purposes."

"I sense a story there, but I won't pry."

Yomiko considered her husband's words, then nodded. "That's likely for the best."

Taking up the missive before him again, Ishiro considered what had been asked of the Shinmei-ryū. It was a request that hadn't been passed first to the _Taima soshiki_, rather coming through direct channels to them. It was the nature of that request that confused him, however. "Still, this is clearly a matter that I would have expected to go to them, not us."

"Again, not necessarily," the Shinmei-ryū swordswoman replied. "There is a reason why we were not considered for the _Taima soshiki_. Those four families have a particular mindset when it comes to spirits and the peculiar. An often final, lethal mindset."

Ishiro nodded, handing the letter back to his wife. "And the Shinmei-ryū are not always so."

"We are not always so," she agreed. "A negotiator can often achieve the same results without bloodshed or or causing other problems," she stated. With exaggerated suddenness, she perked up, as if coming to some conclusion that needed deliberation. "I will have Tsu-chan see to this one." The sound of her husband's suddenly tense posture causing his clothing to shift caught her attention. "Anata?"

"Do you think it wise to send your heir on such an errand?"

Yomiko blinked once. There was no real shift to her posture or expression, but her steel-gray eyes seemed to sharpen, the weight of her presence descending suddenly and with much pressure in the room despite her stillness. "'A sword's nature is to cut'," she quoted, her gaze no more or less intense than it had been, but presently, regardless, dire. "A swordsman or woman of the Shinmei-ryū will not be kept cloistered, as if ornaments."

"That wasn't what I—"

"It is part of what we are, Anata," the woman continued, softer. "She will go to Tokyo – this Nerima ward – and seek out this Saotome woman to assess the situation. She will do as her duty requires. It is what and who she is. Denying her these moments is the same as saying all her work and dreams are for nothing. That the woman she has become, is nothing."

Ishiro nodded, looking away. This was not a new or resolved argument. In many ways, it would never be resolved. To her daughters, Yomiko was the essence of the sword, of the Shinmei-ryū. She taught by example, by simply existing to the pinnacle of an ideal that could be clearly seen and defined, just at a glance.

It was like she wasn't really human. Like, in those moments, she became nothing more than the crystallized idea that was _Shinmei-ryū_.

He never thought that he could understand someone like that. Not wholly. He was brought up in a loving home, with _human_ parents. That wasn't to say anything against Yomiko, but there were times like this one, where she became something more. Something less. Perhaps that was why their families arranged the marriages of their children, rather than take the chance on love matches. Their duty drove the marriage, and though they had come to care for one another intensely, was there love? Affection, compassion, caring, concern... yes, all of those. But love?

It wasn't often that he wondered on it, but each time his wife _became_ the sword, _became_ the essence of her school, Ishiro let himself do so. Wondering on if it was possible for a normal person like him, to love someone so fundamentally distorted as Yomiko.

With a rueful laugh, the middle-aged man shook his head. He knew the answer to that. After all, he loved his daughters – and they were no less... _afflicted_. For all his instincts and reactions, he could no more keep them from their path, than change who he, at heart, was. "I suppose her little shadow will be going as well?"

Yomiko's slow smile dismissed the heaviness in the air, much like opening a window in winter would sudden banish the stuffiness of even an long-sealed room. "Of course. But lets not think on that, now, Anata," she dismissed, idly looking over her shoulder as she moved out of their study with a subtle sway to her stride.

Ishiro chuckled once more, rising to follow. "As you wish, Mi-chan."

–

"Don't get so close!"

"But my belove—grrkk. Ow."

"Hmph." The sudden spat of Chinese between the bicycling figures cut off as the woman leading the two by a small margin lashed out with her foot, causing the other to swerve dangerously into oncoming vehicle traffic. Other than a sudden course correction, little harm seemed to be done. Neither the woman with the long purple hair in a qipao pantsuit nor the man in ostentatious flowing white robes and white hair with the glasses fumbled their delivery boxes, marked with the logo of the Nekohanten Chinese Restaurant.

The two bicyclists were in a rush, it being midday. All around them foot traffic parted, too familiar with the scene after over two years of the same, to find it strange anymore.

"Why great-grandmother thinks I need _your_ protection is beyond me..."

Mutsu sighed but kept pace with Xianpu as her mood seemed to shift from 'tolerant' to 'evasive', hopping her bike up a few standing obstacles to reach the overhead power lines. Hesitantly he followed, not for any fear of heights – "wouldn't that be ironic," he mused – but from an excess of exposure. "Xianpu," he called huffing after. "The elder said we needed to be careful!"

"If Mutsu is too afraid to ride above the barbarians, he can go back to them!"

...there were days Mutsu wondered perhaps if Saotome had the right idea, blithely ignoring the women around him while acting oblivious. It surely seemed to work in getting some people's attention better than his own methods. Not that he would ever let on that he knew about that, since Xianpu would just take it as a further challenge to gain the foreigner's attention, knowing he was aware, but ignoring her.

No. He couldn't do that either, Mutsu realized. His love burned too brightl—

Just like the strange lightning that followed him to the ground, after being tackled off his bike. A moment's glimpse of silver hair and a quiet, sinister laugh were the last things the myopic Joketsuzoku man noted, before he hit the ground below with a resounding thud that carried him into darkness.

–

The sound alerted Xianpu that things were not going as she'd expected.

Her great-grandmother had pulled each of them aside that morning, after coming in very late the night before. As it turned out, someone in Nerima had been attacked, and due to the nature of the assault and the victim's rather interesting history and nature, the hospital had consulted with her as a liaison, on recommendation from a few local specialists. It was a flattering situation, to be sure, but the news had been rather disturbing.

_"...the Hibiki boy was attacked by something. I can't rightly say what – it left no traces on him."_

_ Xianpu frowned at that. "No bruises, to guess from? Tell-tale cuts and wounds, or signs of his attacker where he was found? Nothing?"_

_ Kulon eyed her heir with a raised brow. "You think I would say such a thing without those things and more being checked?"_

_ The young woman's sudden bout of fidgeting was answer enough. "Ah. It's just... The Pig-boy is strong. What could possibly take him down so easily as to not leave a trace? Even Airen would."_

_ "And that is my worry. This stinks of something outside our sphere of experience._

_ "Therefore, I want you two to work together until further notice," the Joketsuzoku elder decided, ignoring Xianpu's indignant huff and Mutsu's elated expression. "Watch each other's back, and take no unneeded chances..."_

She had expected that whatever had taken Hibiki out to have moved on toward her Airen. After all, there were so few things that happened in Nerima that didn't involve her Airen that they could be counted on one hand. With the regularity it seemed that strangeness visited the Tokyo ward, that handful was a small portion of the whole. That in mind, she had taken to the high ground as soon as possible, to better keep an eye for strange things, and keep a surreptitious watch on where Furinkan was. After all, if anything happened during the day, it would start there most likely.

What she hadn't expected to happen was for whatever it was that had attacked Hibiki to seek them out. The two groups were mostly unrelated, after all, only really being associated to one another via her Airen. Sure, Kulon the elder had trained the cursed Hibiki boy in some minor Joketsuzoku techniques, but those themselves were taken from others outside the village, and valued less than their original maneuvers. She knew that the elder's plan was to draw out Ranma's own strength, by empowering his rival and sometimes-enemy. It was a longstanding Joketsuzoku tradition.

It was why Mutse hadn't been shipped back to China in a pet carrier.

Xianpu dropped her bike at that thought, landing with a bounce a block past where she could only guess the ambush had taken Mutsu. "Only there was no way this could have been an ambush," the Joketsuzoku warrior thought to herself as she set her bike's stand to leave it behind. "Mutsu was just following me, and I took to the power lines without it being on our route."

That implied that it wasn't an ambush, so much as they were being stalked like... prey animals. The snarl that came with that realization spoke of Xianpu's opinion of it well enough.

"Hnn, now that's an expression more suited to a barbarian foreigner," a mocking voice echoed between the buildings, causing the Joketsuzoku woman to glance around furtively. The following laughter did little to lessen Xianpu's irritation.

Foregoing her maces, the lavender-haired girl drew a pair of dao, the heavy curved swords held in a loose form that could flow from defense to rapid offense on a whim. "Who's there?" the Joketsuzoku called, hoping Mutsu's attacker would give themselves away somehow.

She was to be disappointed. "And why should I tell you, nyah?" the mysterious voice asked, seeming to bounce off the walls in random ways before reaching her.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Xianpu cursed the city around her. Few of her tracking skills were worth anything in such a place, and what scarce ones she'd learned while there were telling her nothing about this situation. She just didn't have enough to work with. That didn't leave her without options, however. Moving slowly deeper into the alley and toward where she was sure Mutsu had fallen, Xianpu addressed the unseen speaker, "You take out Mutsu, yes? Then know he weaker of us. Xianpu strong warrior," she explained in her halting Japanese. "Make challenge? Test self against strong Joketsuzoku?"

The laugh that answered was equal parts mocking and genuinely amused. "Hnn, and you think that two years in this place with people that know your little sore-loser laws, that they wouldn't get around?" It seemed like the voice should be coming from above, but Xianpu couldn't find a source. The bright contrast of the sky against the darkened buildings in their shadows made it impossible to see anything that wasn't standing out from the walls or a vastly different color. "Poor, stupid Xianpu-nyan. It's no wonder that no one takes you seriously."

Xianpu found herself once again gritting her teeth in annoyance. How dare this outsider insult Joketsuzoku law... when she caught them, she'd see how they liked being on the receiving end of some of the more esoteric techniques she knew. Personal insults she could ignore, and frankly, cared not a bit for. Like she gave a damn what some crazy Japanese woman thought? The whole culture was backwards, upside down, and based on idiocy, in her opinion. "Easy things to say," she countered, scanning the shadows for motion. "For someone who hide like coward."

"Nrrwwow, see," the voice answered, causing Xianpu to whirl around, swords flashing. It had seemed like the voice was to her back. "That's what keeps bothering me. Both you and that pig talk about cowards and fighting with honor... and neither of you have the slightest idea what honor is."

"Those who insult Joketsuzoku, live too, too short lives," the Chinese girl promised, hands tightening on her weapons.

"Nrrow. And fighting fair? Hnn, let's see. Mind control drugs and jewels, love pills, the Xi Fa Xiang Gao, imprinting eggs... but why split hairs? All's fair, nyah?"

The familiarity with her past was worrisome, Xianpu found. An equally unknown and ignorant opponent was much preferable to one that had knowledge of her while she was in the dark, so to speak. A biased battlefield was fine – biased in _her_ direction. "How you know that? Who you?"

A faint, deliberate impact in the direction Xianpu guessed Mutse to be was followed by another burst of mocking laughter. "Niishishi... Master keeps no secrets from me. Especially not about bothersome pests like little Chinese girls with more pride than... _talent_."

Xianpu began to rush around the corner ahead, but the sudden burst of crackling light and a strangled, faint scream clearly coming from Mutse gave her pause. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough for her eyes to spot and water, the burst harsh in the low light. Cursing, the Chinese girl rounded the corner warily, only to pause at the sight that met her. She only had a moment to take in the figure sitting on its haunches beside her fallen fellow Joketsuzoku, before it leapt into a nearby shadow, taking advantage of her fouled vision. "What? But—"

A cute pout shifted into a fierce grin, light reflecting easily from the exposed teeth. "You know, if it wasn't for you," the catty voice prompted, from its place high up from a building's third story. "I wouldn't even be here. Not _now_ at least. I can't say I'm very grateful, nyuu." The teasing lilt in the voice was absent, leaving behind nothing more than lethal sharpness for the speaker's next words. "Not at all."

Brandishing her weapons, Xianpu took in the scene fully, cataloging things in the way of a martial artist and warrior for dispassionate analysis. Mutse was laying face-down on the ground, his robes faintly smoking, though there were no singe marks to be seen. There were however parts of it missing, as if they'd been carved away by a haphazard, childish hand with a pair of shears. His glasses were broken nearby, crushed in a way that seemed deliberate to her eyes. Just another point in favor of this being a deliberate attack, with planning. "You mention master," Xianpu mused out loud. "Where he? Why not face like man?"

"Because there isn't any point to it," spoke a figure that strolled out of the darkness behind Xianpu, startling the Chinese girl into backpedaling while weaving a pointless defense with her swords. Despite the speaker's sudden appearance, she made no move to advance, instead choosing to pace around the widened alley, counter to Xianpu's movements. "Master has already defeated you. Once in that little mud-and-straw backwater you call home. How many times as you made the trip from China to Japan? Then, again over his so-called friend Tendo.

"Again over the reversal-jewel – nice plan there, by the way. It would almost have worked, if you could have backed off for a while, and not shot yourself in the foot while wearing it.

"Even when controlled by a Phoenix imprinting egg, while Master was bound and hobbled. Really, and you call yourself a 'Champion'." The figure paused, hands on her hips as she kicked lightly at the unconscious figure of Mutse where he lay on the ground. "Nyahah. _He_ was more of a threat, really. Regardless of the poor little 'Champion's' opinion."

Every reminder drove into Xianpu's mind, confirming something she had started to worry on earlier in her encounter. Where did this attacker learn so much about her? About the Joketsuzoku? Seeing her antagonist did little to help – it only caused more questions to pop into mind, while confirming that she did indeed see what she'd suspected just moments before.

Of immediate note was the figure's hair. Despite there being no breeze due to the closeness of the buildings, it flowed around her shoulders in a whorl of silver and gray with only a slight gather near the end, flowing about as if caught in a mild wind, making the Joketsuzoku wonder how her antagonist had hidden. Silver-white hair was not something she could imagine missing, while looking for her attacker earlier. She was equally curious about the motion, but that had taken a secondary seat to just how many small things were wrong with the picture before her. Stalking in a circle across from her with a relaxed, almost playful air, the silver-haired figure hummed to herself, the catlike ears atop her head flicking at the errant noises nearby proving their authenticity. Wide blue eyes complete with slit pupils added to the overall impression of 'cat', something that had taken root in Xianpu's mind earlier, listening to Mutse's attacker's speech pattern. The sight of fangs when the figure spoke. The impression was cemented as she noted a tail proportionate to the silver-haired woman's height swaying behind her, lashing in a clearly anticipatory way. It was free to do so, considering the figure's state of near undress, wearing only a long, loose shirt that barely managed to grace her thighs, that she could see.

Despite what was clearly presented before her, Xianpu had a hard time coming to grips with the idea that a catgirl was responsible for what had happened. Taking out the Hibiki boy so simply? Essentially ambushing Mutse so that he had no time to counterattack? That was one thing, but her appearance on top of that? Sure, she herself turned into a cat thanks to her curse – but this was just silly. Then again, she'd had a similar issue, thanks to the ghost cat Maomolin using magic to turn her into a cat to make her his bride. Thoughts of the bakeneko caused Xianpu to reassess her circling opponent, in a different light.

Noting the Chinese girl's attention, the catlike figure tilted her head in mock curiosity. "Oh, and you were doing the angry look so well, too."

The color of the eyes, the small braid in the hair, the familiar shirt... "No way," Xianpu muttered, lapsing back into her native Mandarin. "You can't be—"

"Now, now," with surprising speed, the silver-haired figure cut the other girl off, suddenly appearing in her personal space. The shock was enough to cause Xianpu to dive to the side, where she narrowly avoided a clawing swipe that ripped masonry off the nearby wall in its wake. "Master's experiences warned me letting you think about this too long would be bad, but I have to admit, I'm impressed." Crouching, the catgirl followed her prey, ducking under Xianpu's sword and kicks, showing an uncanny familiarity with the Joketsuzoku style. "Under that vapid little mask, you're quite perceptive."

For her part, Xianpu was conflicted. If her guess was right, then she couldn't strike a fatal blow to the catgirl. But, she had no idea how to fight such a being, her experience being only with human foes. This was far, far outside her range of knowledge.

Her frantic planning was cut off prematurely, by her opponent flickering from view suddenly. "Sadly, I don't have all day. Playtime is over, nya."

"Wha? Where she go—Kyaaa!"

Silver strands slipped around the suddenly stiff Chinese girl, as a pair of slender hands with dainty claws slipped around her waist and shoulders. As Xianpu fought the strange sense of combined vertigo and lassitude that had washed over her, she couldn't help but note the paralysis that had followed it. For all she couldn't move, however, she could still feel the small hands holding her tightly to a clearly feminine form, the busty catgirl going so far as to wrap a leg around her thigh from where she clasped her from behind.

"Not so much fun on the receiving end, is it?" the catgirl asked in a playful, dangerous lilt. A quiet laugh followed, as Xianpu twitched amid the tangling threads that loosely bound her, and the limbs that seemed made of silken steel. "But, as Master said – I shouldn't play with you too much."

Pouty lips parted to display a narrow tongue, which was slowly drawn from the Chinese girl's collar to ear. Trailing it, the girl's skin welled with blood, as the first tiny arcs of electricity snapped between the two. "After all, you stand between my Master and happiness." Another lick stained the tongue, the pink now a lurid red. A wickedly abraded if shallow wound became a deeper, more serious cause for concern.

"An obstacle," the catgirl explained, lips peeling back from wicked teeth in a parody of a smile. In the window of the building before her, Xianpu watched that feral expression bloom, fear beyond anything she'd felt before hammering through her veins, sparking in her eyes as the tears welled there. Watched as her first shameful tears mingled with the slow seep of her blood as it pooled near her collar, as those stained lips hovered just above her pulse.

"And we both know that obstacles are for killing."

–

"Aneue."

Against the sudden wind of a pair of passing... vehicles, the taller of the two women dressed in anachronistic Japanese clothing peered down, keeping her woven straw hat in place with a hand. The noise of the not-quite motorcycles was still loud, and as she waited for the din to fade, she smiled a quiet smile while watching their riders. Two women, one blonde and the other with long dark hair if eyes weren't mistaken, laughed as they drove their unusual machines around a corner.

With some measure of quiet regained, Tsuruko Aoyama turned her attention to the young girl at her side. "Yes, Motoko-han?"

The eight year old, in her own copy of her older sister's hakama and short kimono in black and white respectively, reached out to grab a handful of the red material making up Tsuruko's hakama. The colors were somewhat confusing to some, as traditionally, those colors and styles the older Aoyama sister happened to be be currently sporting were the same as those worn by women that tended to shrines would wear. The fact she was walking down a street in Tokyo with a bundle familiar to those who did kendo across her back, while wearing a straw hat clearly made the initial impression incorrect. Despite that, the serene expression on the eighteen year old's face as she sidled a little closer to her younger sister just made the tableau a bit more peculiar.

One didn't see what appeared to be a sword-carrying miko with a young girl calmly walking in metropolitan Tokyo every day, after all.

The noise had bothered Motoko more than she'd admit. Being one of the daughters of Yomiko Aoyama, the Shihan of the Shinmei-ryū, she had spent most her life up to that point learning and training under her mother's gaze. That did not prepare one for diving headfirst into metropolitan Tokyo. Gathering her courage once more, the young girl spoke, "Why are we here, Aneue? It's so far from home."

A hand strayed down to Motoko's shorter, chin-length hair, ruffling it lightly. The younger girl bore the affectionate gesture with a blush and tiny grumble. "The Shinmei-ryū's duties range wherever we are needed, Motoko-han. Not just back home in Kyoto."

"What kinds of things, though? Hahaue just said I should come with you, to learn..."

"Mm," Tsuruko hummed a moment in thought, considering her mother's motivations for not telling her youngest what their task was, so far from familiar sights. Then again, Motoko wouldn't be actually _doing_ anything, other than observing. It was something of a Shinmei-ryū field trip in that way. A common thing in their school, something she too had done with her mother years back as she was acclimatizing to what her family's legacy actually meant. Likely, this was meant to be just such an occasion, a realization which startled the elder Aoyama daughter for a moment.

That implied she was subtly being nudged to take on her sister's training. Did this mean her mother was starting her instruction as a teacher and guide in the family school, already? Or was it just that she felt Motoko could use some actual experience in the field, before her training in the Shinmei-ryū got difficult, so that she could see first-hand what the school stood for and could do?

There were too many options, and by Motoko's impatient fidgeting, she'd taken too long to answer. "For what we're doing here, the easy answer would be to say, someone asked for help," Tsuruko temporized, before taking a chance on her mother's faith. "Motoko-han, what has Kā-san taught you about the world at large, specifically, the Shinmei-ryū's place in it?"

Motoko fidgeted a moment before answering, the rote reply something she had been taught very early one by her mother. "The Shinmei-ryū were originally protectors of tradition. The school began as samurai who stood beside the onmyōji of the Heian period, and though constant association, learned skills in detecting spirits, sealing, and ki."

Tsuruko hummed an affirmative. "That's a good start. It is good to know our origins, but that wasn't quite what I meant."

"Aneue?"

"The world now is a different place, and since that time so long ago, it has changed. We changed with it," the older sister explained as they walked westward. "Eventually, onmyōji learned to summon shikigami familiars, which many favored over a potentially lethal protector, whose loyalty was to another. However, those that created the school as it was, had learned much. It was too late to go back, so to speak.

"So, they were made a grudging part of that moonlit world."

A slight tug on her hakama brought Tsuruko's attention to her younger sibling. "Moonlit world?"

"A title used sometimes to describe the world of the supernatural," she explained. "As its nature doesn't allow it to become something that would stand the scrutiny of the 'sun'. That is, everyday, normal life."

"But why?"

Tsuruko considered that question for a quiet few minutes, knowing Motoko would be patient with her. Their mother often fell to such silences, and she was suddenly learning why, as she gathered her thoughts for an answer. "Many reasons. For most, the human reason. Most people are not ready or capable of facing such mysteries.

"For instance, how many of those who are watched among the many kendo dojos actually have the potential to become part of the Shinmei-ryū?"

Motoko drew herself up with a little pride. "Very few. Maybe one in a thousand."

With a nod, Tsuruko agreed with this broad estimate. "However, even among that number, the school carefully only approaches those who would be accepting of such an offer. The reason is human nature. Envy and greed are still threats to our school and secrets, as you well know.

"That is the human reason. That leads us to a second reason. Survival."

Motoko jolted slightly at her sister's serious tone, a far cry from her usual, lighter voice. "Survival?"

Her expression grim, Tsuruko nodded. "There are many more people unable to touch that world than those who can. No matter how skilled, one unfortunate moment, one lapse in focus, can bring a swordsman down. For all Kā-san could likely fend off a small army herself, they only need one success, one lucky shot, to win against her. Numbers are a weakness we cannot let get the advantage. The best way to do this, is to give no reason for there to be such a situation.

"And so, we keep to the shadows, out of the light. We cause less harm to our fellow man, by not reminding them what they are incapable of, and to ourselves, by shielding us from possible greed and envy."

It was clear that Motoko did not like that logic. "But what we do isn't wrong, or bad. Why do we need to hide?"

"Jealousy and hate," Tsuruko replied sadly. "Those are the enemies we avoid, but allying ourselves with the various Magic Associations, and following their rules for secrecy. We gain the assistance of a worldwide group of peers, all like-minded in the survival of their skills and legacies through such secrets."

Quietly, the younger girl nodded. "Hahaue told me a bit about that. About a place called The Clocktower in London, and some church."

Tsuruko's lips quirked at her sister's words. "Ah, she did? So you knew all that already?"

"No," Motoko disagreed. "She never explained it that way. Just that we should keep our skills private, or people from those places might come and punish us. Now, I guess I know why better."

Relieved that she wasn't just going over known material pointlessly, Tsuruko continued. "Then, let me tell you about the last reason, since it has more to do with why we're visiting Nerima.

"The last, and possibly more important reason to keep your special skills hidden, is that the peculiar has a tendency to draw in the peculiar. The world itself counters such extremes with a counter-force."

"Counter-force?"

"Some don't believe in it, some call it karma," the elder Aoyama explained. "Others use it to explain things like aberrations. The Kai'i."

Motoko shivered at the mention of that word. "Hahaue talked about those a lot. How, in the beginning, our school ended up being cursed as often as blessed because they used a samurai's logic to solve problems."

Mulling that over, Tsuruko laughed somewhat mirthlessly. "Yes, drawing steel on a kami can be a problem," she mused. "But more, I think it became a matter of perspective. In time, those who began the school came to realize that not all spirits need to be fought. Some can be reasoned with. Some simply want to be left alone. Sometimes that isn't an option, and we fight.

"That is why the swords of the Shinmei-ryū are always shirasaya," she explained, tapping her own blade, Shisui, for emphasis. Rather than a traditional katana, her blade was bound in a white wood sheathe, with a hilt of the same wood. Bound at the base of that hilt, rested a bound bit of red tassel, the ends dangling to be caught in the wind. "It shows that the Shinmei-ryū are not ruled by our blades, in how we keep them in a state that most would consider only suitable for storage."

That was a partial truth, and both Aoyamas knew it. A capable practitioner of Shinmei-ryū could literally take up an errant branch and use it to lethal effect. However, the reference was essentially true. Their bound blades were a symbol of the equanimity the Shinmei-ryū taught, when dealing not only with the people around them, but the supernatural as well.

Motoko shook off her own thoughts, fixating on something her sister had said a moment before. Fear, despite the discipline she was being instructed in, shone clear in those young eyes. "Is that why we're here? Hahaue sent us to deal with a Kai'i?"

"Kā-san sent _me_ to deal with a Kaii," Tsuruko corrected, ruffling Motoko's hair again to set the younger girl at ease. "You're here to learn a bit by watching."

That clearly didn't sit well with the younger girl, but the point was quickly made moot as Tsuruko came to a stop outside a modest home surrounded by a property wall. The style was somewhat modern, and looked as if it had undergone extensive repairs recently as well. Verifying the address and the nameplate identifying the residents as SAOTOME, the elder Shinmei-ryū motioned for her sister's silence. Motoko complied as her sister took on an air very much like that their mother had. "And your lesson begins now."

–

Despite its exterior, the Saotome home was simple and understated, with traditional settings that reminded Tsuruko of home, setting her at ease. More importantly, it eased Motoko, who had been feeling very much like a tiny little bomb ready to go off in hand since being told they were in Tokyo to address the issue of a Kai'i. As the two of them were greeted and made their introductions, Tsuruko took a moment to make an impression of the people before her.

The woman, Nodoka, who had sent the summons for assistance, seemed rather upbeat despite carrying what felt to her senses much like a pall of remorse and leashed guilt about her like thick fog. Dressed in a patched but clearly much cared-for kimono, the woman exuded a sense of quiet peace and calm, despite the katana clutched in her arms.

Tsuruko noted the weapon without so much as a twitch of her eye.

Genma Saotome as he'd introduced himself, made her want to go find someplace to bathe. He wasn't a lecher, or let his eyes linger in places they shouldn't, but like her other senses, those that she used to scent at Nodoka to feel her quiet sadness told a tale about her husband as well. More than any other impression, however, she felt greed. So much so, in fact, she nearly missed the desperate anxiety at her presence.

Almost.

As she was being seated at the Saotome's table for tea, Tsuruko considered many things. Her lightly sore feet caused by the long walk from the center of Tokyo to one of its outlying wards. The tense and nervous presence of her beloved younger sister at her side. The familiar nature of Nodoka's weapon. The shifty eyes of the man who married into his name, as he sweated faintly under his bandanna. The quiet, knowing smile her mother used to always wear when teaching or exposing her to some new mystery or lesson.

Suddenly, quite a few things slid into sharp focus. Though she was there for a purpose, had traveled from Kyoto and the heart of Shinmei-ryū's influence north to the center of the Kantō region, she felt no fear or anxiety. For all that Tsuruko knew she'd soon be facing her first Kai'i alone, there was only a sense of anticipation. A feel of released tension deep within, startling her though it didn't pass beyond her schooled features. Her mother's smile suddenly made much more sense, with its quiet air of amused attention. The sensation and expression of one who was finding the world, regardless of how it presented itself, vastly entertaining. Enthralling.

Tsuruko tried on that slight, enigmatic smile, and found it quite comfortable.

At her side, Motoko shivered, for no reason she could quite name. There was only a sense of foreboding, and a feeling of distant doom.

Conversation shortly progressed beyond pleasantries, into the reason that the Shinmei-ryū had been summoned to a place outside their usual domain. "If I understand correctly," Tsuruko said after a few minutes of quietly digesting the tale, "you think your son, Ranma, is involved in these attacks? On top of that, you believe him to be suffering from a spirit's influence, and your reasoning is because he has been missing since shortly before they began and the nature of the attacks. Does that sum things up?"

With his arms crossed and eyes closed, Genma Saotome tried to affect his usual air of sagely wisdom. A glance at the Shinmei-ryū woman and her – in his mind – mocking smile ruined the effect as he scowled. "That's precisely it," he bulled forward, regardless. "No one else in Nerima would have the ability to fight those three as effectively. The boy's been able to beat them for ages now, and it just goes to reason that this is his doing."

"And yet," Tsuruko mused, sipping her tea, "you are his master in the art. Are you saying he has surpassed you, Saotome-san?"

"Of course not!" Pride demanded he respond, blurting out a denial to the girl's claim out of reflex. Genma's bluster faltered as he realized the trap he'd just walked into. "Er..."

Placing her cup down, the swordswoman gazed intently at the bald, overweight man until he began to sweat and fidget where he sat. "I see. Nodoka-san?"

The auburn-haired woman blinked up, having lost herself to her contemplations during the latter exchanges. "Hm? Yes?"

Tsuruko's gaze did not waver, however the smile she wore grew larger, if brittle. The subtlety was lost on all but the man she was staring down. "Would you mind keeping my sister company for just a moment? I fear the nature of the discussion I need to have with your husband would not be one I wish her to hear."

Genma paled dramatically and sputtered a denial but was overruled by Nodoka's sense as a hostess. "Oh! Oh of course, these are somewhat unacceptable topics for a young woman. Come, Motoko-chan, let me show you my garden." Getting a small nod from Tsuruko, the younger Aoyama heaved a sigh and followed the Saotome woman outside, leaving a shifty-eyed Genma and placid Tsuruko behind.

Once the outer door had shut, there was a flurry of blurred motion, ending with Genma halfway to a window, with Shisui drawing a bead of blood from his throat as it rested just below his chin. Tense and immobile, both figures stood still as the air around them settled once more. "Perhaps you would like to tell me the truth now, Saotome-san?"

Swallowing thickly and ignoring the stinging reminder that he was just a few fractions of a second from being a head shorter, Genma laughed nervously, "O-of course. Not that I was lying earlier! Not at all!"

"Your sincerity has truly moved me," the swordswoman remarked, her expression and tone shifting not a bit from the pleasant tone she'd spoken with since arriving, her tiny, enigmatic grin still firmly in place. "I find myself rapt with attention. Please, speak Saotome-san. Let us try this again."

"R-right," sweating through his once-white gi, Genma backed away from the blade at his throat and drew a deep breath, relieving the spiked rush the adrenaline hammering through his system had left at his near-death experience. Seeing that the sword-carrying girl wasn't planning on putting her blade away this time, he kept his eyes firmly ahead, wanting no part in tempting her hand. "So, uh. What did you want to know?"

Tsuruko regarded the cowed man with a languid blink. "Perhaps why you are so sure this is your son's fault? It seems unlikely that one who had spent so long obeying the tenets of his art would simply begin attacking his rivals and annoyances with the intent to do lasting harm."

Genma nodded seriously before replying, "That's true. Very true. Even under great stress, the boy keeps his head on straight. Which is why I think he's possessed."

"Hence, the summons sent to the Shinmei-ryū," Tsuruko temporized, before shaking her head slightly. "Yet, this is precisely the same logic you offered before, and it still smells of untruth. I am not my mother, with her infinite patience and compassion, Saotome-san," the swordswoman warned, bringing her blade back up as her eyes shifted from steel-gray to a lurid gleaming white-on-black. More disturbing by far, however, was the slight smile that remained below those demonic eyes.

"_**And I abhor liars.**_"

"Waaaah! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The sudden display of cowardice and fear did little to ease the woman's ire, but she also made no move to strike the begging man down as he bowed repeatedly, prostrate on the floor of his own home. "The truth is just too horrible to bear! Too horrible to tell!"

Tsuruko released a breath that misted in the air faintly. "Regardless, you will tell it. In return I shall rework the binding on your wife's blade. It is a favor to the Shinmei-ryū that she bears it, and it would not do for the curse it holds to leak further.

"Thus is my offer, Saotome-san. Your truth, for the seal. I feel it quite fair. Do you not?"

Genma gawked at the young woman, his mouth moving silently for a moment. Shaking his head to settle his thoughts, he pointed at her incredulously. "Wait, you know about the sword?"

With a small shrug, Tsuruko nodded. "Of course. Why do you think the Shinmei-ryū bothered to send someone – not just someone, but the heir of the Shihan – to attend this small matter? We owe the Saotome line a debt of gratitude for their sacrifice in keeping that blade sealed."

Shifting his eyes from the girl with the sword to the door leading to his wife, Genma asked, "Then, why not just seal it again? Or better yet, take it away entirely!"

"Oh? And you care so little for your wife's honor? Her duty? Her blood-born right to a responsibility to a task both important and vital?" The small smile became mocking. "Then again, you do seem like one who is more concerned with his own hide, regardless of who else suffers."

"Enough talk," Tsuruko stated. "Tell me about this... Neko-ken that your wife mentioned, that made you all but sweat blood. Convince me that you aren't so stupid as to have performed a ritual meant to hollow out a soul and leave behind a hole, fit for a demon to build a nest within," she hissed, advancing on the still-sitting Saotome, her gleaming eyes seeming to take up the whole of his vision.

"Perhaps if I am satisfied with your answer, I won't cripple you and let the Magic Associations render their usual judgment on those who dare to summon demons into the world. Perhaps you'd enjoy life as a farm animal?"

–

AN: I liked it, but decided I wanted to work with Tsuruko in a different setting. Plus, again, I planned out bigger than I had the motivation to complete. So, false start it is.


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: Ok, some of you may know what Whateley and Crystalhall mean, so this may sound a bit familiar at places. For those that don't – think X-Men with a dash of WTF, a side of more wide scale gender-fuckery, and a lot of… well a lot of other things. Anyway, this isn't a crossover, so much as me poking around at an idea, and deciding it wasn't quite to my liking, and putting it away.

—

_**Secondary Education**_

–

There were a lot of things wrong with the current situation, and very few right. Nicole Ross knew this quite well, and despite being 'only' a teacher at a specialized academy in America, still felt she was the best suited to handle what was happening. At least, in a very narrow sense. Ducking behind a wall and into an alleyway, she forced herself to look nonchalant, as yet another patrol of three armed, ill-tempered, and overworked field agent-slash-soldiers trooped by, followed by a fourth in powder-blue power armor. Some things, however, she wasn't quite the best for. Combat, for instance.

"What I get for focusing on a purely research-based career after graduating from Whateley, rather than taking those classes, I guess," she muttered quietly, pulling her collar up while keeping a surreptitious ear on the passing foot traffic, in case the bothersome patrol doubled back.

Shaking her head at her own amateurish cloak-and-dagger leanings, she pushed off the wall and continued on toward her goal. "That lot back home wouldn't have sent me if they weren't sure this was a real lead. Just have to find her before the MCO does, and I'm set. I hope," she added as an afterthought, remembering the last time she'd considered a job to be a cakewalk.

That time had lost her the mentor she was busy visiting Japan on a fake ID to track down. The MCO – Mutant Commission Office – had been a part of that incident too, though only as background noise in the bigger picture, really. Still, the internationally-sanctioned blue boogeymen of non-baseline people the world over weren't to be trifled with. Getting out of Japan ASAP was high on her list of priorities.

Once she was pretty sure that she'd not be seen by anyone relevant, Nicole pulled out a device that looked like a cross between a dustbuster and a tablet computer, and continued on her way, following the cranky bleeps the thing made as she walked. Under her breath, she swore that when she got home, she'd work a little harder to impress upon Brentwood the concept of subtlety. "Because this thing ain't it," she muttered, her southern accent making a brief appearance as the academy teacher stalked down the sidewalk, ignoring the sidelong looks she was getting.

It wouldn't matter, soon. She was only a few dozen yards away from her target, and had already made arrangements to get the hell out of Japan before the MCO began making up for lost time. "Don't know whether to thank that little brat over in Minato or curse her. On the one hand, that psionic blanket pretty much turned an entire ward into a bunch of animatronic zombies, but on the other, the MCO office ended up in a 'Groundhog's Day' loop." Chuckling to herself, Nicole turned the corner, only to stop as her device gave a wheezing hiccup and final blip.

"Alright... well. I think I know who I'm here for," the woman muttered, eyes wide and blinking as she watched a trio of what looked like high school students walking by. The three girls were deep in conversation, allowing her to discreetly follow along, on the other side of the street and listen in to their chatter.

"...and there's no way I'm letting you have them."

—

"This is so fucked up."

Though it wasn't much of a retreat or bolt-hole to hide in, Ranma sat in a familiar brooding spot, under a bridge near an almost dry canal, some distance from the Tendo home and Furinkan High School. Anyone who bothered could find her, but at the moment, she didn't much care. All she wanted was a place to gather her thoughts for a moment, and try to piece together the madness that had become her life.

The latter part of that thought was the most telling part. "Damn it all," she cursed, throwing the camp kettle aside where the remainder of the hot water she'd been boiling spilled, leaving a muddy trail from the canal bank down to the stunted, filthy ditch below. The reason for her violence was clear, as the red hair she'd been sporting refused to shift to black, the petite female form stubbornly remaining despite her efforts. She'd tried twice before, but thought... thought maybe, somehow...

Ranma shook her head hard. She might not be the most educated person in the world, but she wasn't stupid. There was no denying it – she was stuck in her cursed form, _again_.

She knew the reason of course. It had been dangled in front of her face for the last few days, and she'd been vying desperately for it the entire time. "A wishing sword. I can't believe it. I just can't... ugh!" Kicking her campfire apart, the sullen young woman slumped down with her back to the bridge's support nearby, ignoring the sounds of traffic above. "I don't even know what he wished for, and that idiot can't even keep his head grounded long enough to tell me, without spouting off some crap or trying to get his damn hands on me."

Glaring to the side, the young woman's eyes fell on the culprit for her situation, that being a finely wrought but otherwise unassuming katana. After all the work and humiliation in buttering up Tatewaki Kuno – one of the many unwanted admirers she'd picked up since getting her curse to become female when splashed with cold water – the idiot had made his final wish in secret. She'd been so close, even able to get the blade to herself a few times, but there was some kind of lock on the thing; the current bearer of the blade, and first to make a wish, was the only one who could do so till their wishes were used up. She'd hoped desperately that like those stories of other wish-granting objects, that once the current master had expended their wishes, she could swoop in and get her own, but things weren't to be so simple, for her. True, the sword could grant wishes, but it could not undo them.

Which lead to her current situation – hiding from those that would be looking for not only her, but the sword. What confused her was the lack of pursuit. Usually, the second things started getting strange, it was like the idiots in Nerima just popped out of the woodwork, but this time... it was like something had changed. Something massive.

Ranma shivered at that thought. She could practically smell the magic earlier on waking, and it was thick, like morning fog, clinging to everything for the brief moment she'd paid it attention, before evaporating like dew at noon, like her disturbing dreams. Dew that smelled of Jusenkyo's unique tang, and the acquired bitterness she related to magic, having run across it again, and again, and _again_.

She was beginning to wonder if her curse had more to do with butting heads with a supposedly imaginary force, than her brief dunk in one of the Pools of Sorrow. And those dreams... it had been exhausting, living out what had felt like a lifetime, broken like a mirror and badly taped together. There had been no order, no cohesion to it, despite how vivid the dream had been.

Her dark musings on her nightmares were put aside, as the tell-tale sound of shoes crunching along cracked stone reached her ears. Snapping out a hand, Ranma gathered the damned wishing sword to her, in preparation to put some distance between herself and the intruder, when she realized something. The footsteps, the cadence, even the kind of shoe – she didn't know them.

"Hello? I know you're there. I just want to talk to you."

Ranma bit her tongue, surprise painting her features for a moment. The voice was unfamiliar, and most curious, they weren't speaking Japanese. It was a clearly American accent, one so thick it made her 'I' sound more like 'Ah', along with a drawl that could practically be called a purr. Against all her current instincts and obeying a nearly physical need to see the speaker she didn't really understand at that moment, Ranma paused, watching warily as a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties shuffled down the incline that lead to the small shelf that her current hide dwelled on. Blinking at the change in lighting, the woman pushed a fall of brown hair aside, revealing startlingly blue-green eyes. "Oh, there you are."

As the woman picked her way across the washed up and tangled masses of refuse and dried mud that made up the bridge's natural blind, she introduced herself. "Sorry to intrude, but I'm working on something of a rushed schedule. Name's Nicole Ross; you're Ranma Saotome, aren't you?"

The redhead nodded hesitantly, getting a bright smile in return. A smile that tugged at something fundamental within her, that she swatted away in favor of wary caution. "Great – you look just like the records said. Which is part of the problem, from your point of view."

Ranma shook her head hard, before focusing on the woman, blue eyes hard despite her clear confusion. She wasn't in the mood for this right now, and her tone showed that clearly. "Alright, hang on. I got your name, but who _are_ you? Why are you looking for me, and what did you mean by that?"

"In order," the woman who'd named herself Nicole began immediately, stalling the redhead's rising temper, "I'm a teacher at a university in America, I'm looking for you because so are other people, and they aren't so nice, and as for the last bit... well. You'd have to see it to believe me, but that's kind of a given, honestly."

Now with more questions than she started with, Ranma growled and pushed herself to standing, stalking up to the woman while keeping the sword partially obscured by her body. "What do you mean, see it to believe it? And I don't really care who you are – _why_ are you looking for me? This got anything to do with Pops and his engagement crap?"

The American favored her with a bemused grin. "Full of questions, aren't you? Alright, well... I'll answer what I can, but we need to get moving. The nasties will be out soon, with all the reports of this part of town being what they are, and we don't want to be in the middle of it," she said, her expression falling. "We beat them in Juuban, but there just aren't enough of us."

Ranma was quickly losing her patience for half answers and cryptic replies. "Nasty what? Middle of where? Enough of _who_?"

"The answer to most of your questions is easy, but we don't have time, and here's not the best place to talk about it," Nicole muttered as she dragged Ranma out from under the bridge, more by force of keeping close enough to hear her reply, than anything else. Overhead, three powder-blue aircraft in a strange design flew in formation, breaking some distance away to ground in different places in the more central locations of Nerima. To the gawking redhead, she sighed. "C'mon. We need to get somewhere safe. The MCO isn't going to make getting you out of here easy."

Rather than argue, Ranma nodded faintly, walking beside the young woman as she stomped and trudged the way back to the street. The reason, had she been asked, was simple enough. With her vision being as sharp as it was, she'd seen the soldiers in the craft, and what they were holding. Each was practically festooned with guns and weapons, not to mention the ships themselves, which had enough guns to make a military otaku blush. And behind them, glimpsed through the window, she'd just picked out something she'd only seen in an anime. Power armor.

Each of the ships had an emblem proclaiming them part of this 'MCO' the Ross woman had mentioned. Even as good as she was, Ranma had no illusions on being capable of taking down everyone from one of those ships, without help. Maybe she could, but for all her training, she'd never faced down bullets before, much less a small contingent of people armed with them. If she had to deal with this MCO organization, she needed to know who and what they were. It was time to get some information, and luckily for her, for once, she was following a source of it back to the roads of Nerima right now that probably wouldn't charge an arm and a leg for it.

–

The cafe Nicole had chosen was in the more metropolitan part of Nerima, where it bordered the nearby wards closer to central Tokyo. The self-proclaimed American teacher had sworn fit to make a sailor blush on seeing a patrol of blue-suited men with MCO badges in their way, but that hadn't lasted long. Despite the warnings she'd muttered earlier, the men trooped by them without pausing, though Ranma was startled when they stopped someone next to them.

In the soldier's hand, was her picture. Despite being right beside the armed group, and being in clear sight of the woman who was being quizzed, she and Nicole passed by without garnering a glance. Nicole stifled Ranma's incredulous look with a severe one of her own, all-but dragging her into the cafe they were now picking a table to sit at.

Once they were situated, which oddly involved the American pulling something that looked like a walkie-talkie from her jacket and fiddling with the dials, Nicole slumped with a sigh. "Alright, I know you've got questions, but first, listen up.

"You probably don't know what the MCO is, do you?" Getting a terse shake of Ranma's head in reply, the brunette muttered about overpowered gems and blondes for some reason. "Alright, here's the short version, then. The MCO – or Mutant Commission Office – is a worldwide regulatory body, with legal ability to police and detain all superhuman and supernatural persons determined by each country's charter with them. In Japan, this usually means anyone considered non-baseline committing felony acts. There's more to it, but the details aren't important right now. Do you understand what I'm saying, so far?"

Empirically, Ranma did. That is to say, the words had meanings, that she had constructed like a puzzle, to grasp the overall point of the Ross woman's little speech. It was the point itself of that speech that confused the redhead, however. "Mutants? Like on the television?"

Nicole favored Ranma with a tight, humorless smile. "That depends. Do you mean the news, or the cartoons?"

That answer put the martial artist off her temper, leaving her blinking for a moment. "Er..."

"Don't worry, I understand. Let me explain part of the problem.

"A year ago, a vastly powerful psychic artifact – meaning, mind affecting predominantly – was bonded to a young woman in a neighboring ward of Tokyo. This was just before your arrival back in the country, and if I'm not mistaken, your travels rarely let you catch up on local and world events, correct?" Seeing Ranma nod bemusedly, the young woman went on. "Well, that artifact caused something like mass hypnosis, though the devil's in the details here. Best to go with the simpler comparison. Anyway, the bottom line is, due to that artifact, Tokyo has been more or less functioning in a parody of normal life for nearly a year and a half."

Ranma's skepticism shone through in her tone, "And no one noticed this?"

"For the most part, no," Nicole replied, shrugging. "You have to understand, that part of the problem was that people were compelled to act _normal_, other than a few key things. Those were mostly tied up with particulars that the MCO and Japanese government would be responsible for."

"So red tape, bureaucracy, and politics made it so no one else noticed Tokyo getting... hypnotized, you said?"

The twenty-something woman chuckled quietly. "As silly as it sounds, yes. The local branches of the MCO were making the usual reports out, which was what they should be doing, while actually taking no action, lost in a little girl's dream. The government itself was in a similar state – and this is the best part – but working more efficiently, as it followed the imperative to function _as it should be doing_."

Shaking her head slowly, Ranma blinked at the woman in bemusement. "Alright, that's all well and good I guess, but what does that have to do with me?"

Nicole conceded the point with a slight wince. "Quite a lot, actually. You see, normally, the things that have been going on in Nerima would have the local branch of the MCO crawling around like flies on roadkill. The property destruction, injuries, blatant strangeness... those are like massive red flags, and they're not the sort to overlook them.

"But, that psionic blanket made it so they more or less didn't exist. Like many other small changes. Without it, however..." The woman made her point as she nodded toward the doors of the cafe, where outside another group of three blue-uniformed soldiers trooped by with pinched expressions of distaste. "They're responding to something recent, and working to make up for lost time."

Suddenly, the bottom dropped out of Ranma's stomach. "Wait, they're here because of me?"

With a quiet laugh, Nicole shook her head. "Not just you. Though, you'd be the feather in the cap of whoever was running this field operation. No, they're here to process and contain the mutants and supernaturals in the area, starting with the illegal Chinese nationals that have set up shop in Nerima. That sort of thing makes the locals nervous, after all."

Thoughts about the Joketsuzoku soured Ranma's mood significantly. "I see. But you've been talking about mutants... and I'm not mutant. I mean I look normal, and everything."

There was a beat before the American laughed, a merry, chiming sound that seemed to not escape the bounds of their table, despite the volume. Ranma found that rather odd, and could only blame the odd bit of technological whatever between them for that fact. "Now, I see I've got my work cut out for me. I'm not saying for absolute certain you are a mutant, but regardless, you break the baseline limits without even trying. I know – I've seen you fight. And besides that – I'm a mutant. We don't all stick out so much, you know."

Nicole continued, ignoring the blatant curiosity Ranma was showing at her admission. "That's what matters to the MCO. Mutant or not, they just want to keep the peace, as defined by the 'normal' human viewpoint. The problem comes from the fact they're here to contain fighters. Potentially dangerous, destructive fighters."

That empty fear in Ranma's gut swelled and gnawed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you don't want to be carted out of Nerima in a suppression harness, or shot full of very large holes, it's best to get out now, and quickly," the woman explained bluntly. "Everyone knows you, and knows what part you have in things. Now that the wool's off the eyes, so to speak, this place is too hot to stay in. And more than anyone else, you need to get out."

The petite redhead throttled down her anxiety, a cold weight settling through her veins as her thoughts drifted toward those she'd called family so recently. That same family that had been acting so unlike themselves since her curse had locked, and not in a way she'd expected. Something she'd initially blamed on Kuno's wish. Now however, she had doubts. "Could this psychic... thing have reached here? Messed with people this far away?"

The gaze Nicole spared her had Ranma's hackles rising. As a martial artist, she'd dealt with being gazed on with a thousand different emotions, but pity... pity nearly made her see red and black and bloody. "I don't think so," the American replied in her southern purr. "You're talking about your curse, right?"

"How did you know?"

"Like I said, I'm a mutant. That means a lot of different things, to different people... but for me, it's about chances. Probabilities, and how to bend them, see them for what they are." Nicole fished around in her purse for a moment as Ranma digested that, presenting a folder with some old, official documents carefully ensconced inside. "Your family's been acting like you've been a girl all your life, haven't they?"

Flinching, the redhead snatched up the folders, looking inside to dismiss the woman's words. What she saw had her mouth going dry, and eyes growing huge. "...what is this?"

"Proof of a world gone wrong," the American explained. "I've seen the past you remember, but what you hold in your hands is the history the world now knows."

Birth certificates, stamped and familiar but _wrong_, school records, identity documents, even the few sparse doctor's notes from the hospital and Tofu that had been made. All ringing quite easily with authenticity, yet all declaring Ranma having been female on each and every one. "How...? What?"

The American woman leaned on her elbows, cradling her chin in her hands. "I see possibilities. I can twist them, usually making the absolute least possible thing happen. Like us being able to walk by a MCO patrol in broad daylight, when they have a photo of you in hand."

Well, Ranma thought to herself, that explained that, at least.

"It's why my handle is Longshot. I could show you the usual way I explain it, with a deck of cards. I'd have you check it, you'd see it was normal, but when I pulled off a card from the deck in your hands, they'd all be the ace of spades." The twenty-something woman shrugged. "But, right now, the important thing is you. How did you end up in the middle of this kind of thing? What can you think of that could cause it."

In answer, Ranma hauled up the battered sheathe concealing a blade that looked as if it had come fresh from a forge, in contrast. Neither wondered at the redhead's ability to simply tote the weapon around without notice, for differing reasons. Still, now that it was pointed out, Nicole had to wonder at why the young woman she had been sent to speak with carried it with her. "It's... nice," she offered blandly, raising a brow. "For a sword."

"A local idiot ended up with it. It grants – or at least granted – wishes."

"Wishes," Nicole stated with that same bland tone, and a slow blink.

Ranma shrugged in response. "he had one left, and I didn't get to hear what it was. Based on what I can guess, being that this was _Kuno_, he probably botched it wishing something for his 'beloved pigtailed goddess'."

Nicole paled, her blue-green eyes wide and staring as her breath grew faint, shallow, and sharp. Ranma found herself bemused to have noted those things, so easily. "And he would have used that wording? If he had made a wish regarding you?"

Nodding, Ranma considered the woman's reaction with narrowed eyes. It was clear she had some idea what was going on, and had just found a missing piece that made it all make sense – in a way she didn't like at all. "He would have, the raving lunatic. Why? Why does it matter?"

"Law of Intent," the American muttered, letting her face fall into her hands.

–

August 19th

3:00PM

Los Angeles International Airport

The red-haired girl wearing old, ratty, worn clothes with a large travel-stained pack looked up as the sound of footsteps tickled at her brooding fugue, causing her to look up at the approaching small horde of people bearing down on her. A moment's flash of fear was quickly replaced by cold resolve, until the figures came clearly into view through the cluttered obstacle course that was the airport gate's waiting area. With an almost inaudible sigh, the petite figure slumped back in her seat, face turned down to study her hands intently. Despite her attention and change in focus, the tension didn't leave her frame, leaving her coiled and ready to spring into motion at any moment.

One set of practiced eyes took in that fact, causing their owner to sigh gustily. Around her, the troop of teenagers – some newly minted, some upwards of sixteen or seventeen by appearance – walked hesitantly, eyes roaming as they held their luggage in nervous, sometimes tense fingers. It took them just a few moments to draw up to the same aisle that the redhead had staked as her own, where she paused. "Alright, kids," she beckoned with a voice honed from a few years performing this duty annually, just in a different locale. "I want everyone to pick a seat on this row," she indicated the set of seats that the redhead occupied, and the one across from it. "I know some of you are jet-lagged to hell and back, but you've got about an hour left before the flight out to the campus. Everyone in this group is 'in the know' so to speak, and will be your classmates for the next few years." Clapping her hands, the twenty-something woman offered the assembled soon-to-be students a smile, and expectant look.

Most took the hint and started making their own little nests, much like the girl that had preceded them, building virtual walls around themselves out of possessions, memories, and space. Those that straggled behind or weren't listening followed suit just to do so, and not make waves. The woman sighed again, shaking her head minutely. "Alright. You've got an hour like I said. This gate is closed to normal traffic, so you're free to talk but keep any oddness to yourselves. America is pretty lax, but freaking the mundanes will get you in deep shit. Understood?"

A host of nods answered her, the use of harsh language and tone driving her point home. She may have been a teacher, but that didn't mean she was Mary Bloody Poppins. Still, she needed to set a precedent, and check on the flight status, the checked luggage for the students, staff, herself, and a thousand tiny details that she simply couldn't delegate. Turning her gaze to the taciturn redhead, she raised a brow, getting a tired nod in response. "Ranma," she indicated the petite young woman that had been there before them all, "will be in charge until boarding. Meaning she's the boss, and you better listen."

A burly young man with the look of someone with a foul temper snorted, favoring the much smaller young woman with a derisive look before turning back to her. "Her? Why not someone who can back it up?"

The twenty-something woman smiled at that. "Because she can. Do you think I'd put someone in charge that couldn't handle it, knowing all the files of everyone here, Derrick? Now I have to run – Ranma, nothing permanent. We can just strap them in for the flight, but we're spread too thin to have our own medic. Despite me petitioning for one."

"Yeah, whatever Nicole," the redhead groused, leaning her head back till it cracked against the plexiglass divider that sat between the seats behind her, ignoring the impact entirely.

Stifling a snort of amusement, Nicole Ross, freshman coordinator for Fairview Academy turned on her heel and made her way back toward the terminal, thinking about how nice it will be to be back home at the school.

–

The milling students spread out, minus a few exceptions. Notable of those was a very pretty blonde girl with strikingly blue eyes that settled in a seat beside the surly redhead, meeting no one's eyes and making no effort to start conversation, though the group's interim minder offered her a quick, whispered word. The two seemed to share a mood, despite being some of the most striking people present. There were a few other small groups forming up, along the usual lines that teens tended to draw around themselves, following some mysterious ancient pattern that had stumped scholars for aeons.

Derrick and two of the more athletic looking young men were conversing quietly among themselves, shooting a few of the other assorted teens sneering, superior looks. Strangely enough, for what should have been practiced, snobbish personalities, the three seemed unused to such behavior, like they were new to it.

A mousy, black-haired teen with a backpack that nearly dwarfed him struck up a conversation with a girl across from him, pointing at some of the odds and ends she had poking out of the pockets of a rather beleaguered vest. The two were joined by another pair, though the girl with the shoulder-length gray hair that had been pulled along by an excited brunette seemed hesitant, if not downright wary.

A trio of girls in fashionable clothing and minimal carry-on luggage and a family resemblance that seemed uncanny were quietly conversing with one another, while discreetly keeping an eye on those around them. The three were blonde and pale to a member, and guaranteed to be a nightmare to tell apart later, provided the three interacted at all with anyone else. They seemed to drift about the area, though if one had the perception to notice, they never came within three feet of another person other than themselves unless they couldn't help it.

Once everyone present had settled, the redhead looked up and did a quick headcount. That done and matching the information she'd been given by Nicole some hours earlier, Ranma tiredly stood to bring attention to herself. "Alright, I'm not much for public speaking, so quiet down. I don't want to have to do this twice."

Seeing she had everyone's attention, more or less, the petite girl in the worn clothing continued. "From what I was told, Nicole or whoever's coordinating the freshmen usually does this, but seeing as she's running understaffed, I got roped into playing teacher's aide. Trust me, I'm thrilled."

There were a few snickers to punctuate her bland tone, as the redhead ran a hand through her hair with a sigh. "Alright, a little expansion on the ground rules from earlier. While we have about an hour of free time here, without the risk of someone listening in or seeing anything too strange, on the plane it's strictly red flag. Meaning, no talk of mutants, magic, super-advanced science, or anything else outside the normal. The stewardesses and flight staff are _not_ in the know, and the last thing anyone wants is to cause a mid-flight panic, or get the lot of us put under suspicion of being terrorists." She offered the subdued group a nasty smile. "Or worse, because they _will_ find out eventually, _mutant_ terrorists."

Ranma was gratified to see a nearly group-wide shudder pass through the new students. She didn't really like scaring them, but a little fear and a strong sense of self-preservation would do them some benefit. No mutant or unnatural human wanted to run afoul of MCO and their dubious reputation, and the fast track to being on those lists was to be irresponsible with one's powers. That was a lesson she'd learned the hard way.

"The official meet-and-greet won't happen till you're all sorted into your dorms, when we arrive. She didn't tell me how those were sorted out, however," Ranma lied, shrugging noncommittally. "So, for at least the next two hours, you may want to mingle around. You're going to be spending the next few years with each other, in classes or otherwise, so try to be friendly. You never know, after all."

One of the kids hanging around the backpack-toter chimed up at that, "What do you mean?"

Ranma favored the gray-haired girl with a shrug. "Some people will need help in this or that class, you may end up roommates, or share a dorm with someone here, and I hear there are team activities. No point in making a bad impression right off the start, right?"

"That really something a _teacher's aide_ should be saying?" One of Derrick's clique pointed out, to a few muffled snickers.

Whatever reaction he'd expected, Ranma laughing wasn't it. "Yeah. Don't worry – this is a one-time situation. I can pretty much guarantee you'll mostly find me in detention or something when I'm not in classes, once we get to Fairview. Apparently, I'm trouble."

That caused the snickering and what whispered rumor-passing that was going on to die a quick death, to the redhead's wry amusement. One of the triplets fixed Ranma with a look, to which the young woman raised a brow and nodded. The center triplet took a step forward, and spoke, "Why did Ms. Ross choose you to be in charge, if you're trouble, as you say?"

"The answer's kind of boring, really," Ranma admitted, her Japanese accent showing through her words thickly for a moment. "Everyone here's on a sponsorship of sorts, right?" She took a moment to meet the eyes of those waiting with her, before nodding. "Someone's paid your way, either family, your government, or some mysterious benefactor. Nicole knew my sponsor, so we spent some time catching up, and she asked if I'd help out since she was short of help. That's pretty much it."

"So you're the teacher's pet, already," Derrick remarked.

"Seriously doubt it, Derrick – it was Derrick, right?" the petite young woman countered, not waiting for the young man to confirm. "Nicole's part of the advanced maths and sciences department. I doubt I'll even have any of her classes.

"There were some other things she mentioned that I guess she's not going to have time to tell you, but those are mostly common sense. Don't tell anyone anything unless you don't mind it getting around, don't start fights, don't argue with the staff. The usual." Offering the rest of the soon-to-be students a shrug, she turned lapsed into silence, looking out one of the windows, running the length of the gate.

The twenty-five teens drifted into quiet chatter, with a few small islands of quiet. Among those were the triplets, one or two loners who preferred the company of their personal music players, Ranma, and the blonde girl sitting beside her. Spattering laughter cropped up now and then, though for the most part, it seemed that the spirits of the teens were dim.

Nearly half an hour later their minder returned, looking cross and harried, as she stalked to where an oblivious Ranma was quietly snoring, her head leaned back against the transparent divider behind her seat. Shaking her head, Nicole nudged the girl, waking her up, as the sound of an aircraft approaching the gate rumbled through the area. "Alright, everyone," she called out over the sudden din of the teens rousing themselves from their waiting fugue, "get your stuff together and gather up – we're boarding in five."

One of the girls putting away a hand-held game system called out over the noise, "Is the plane early?"

Nicole shook her head as she helped one of the teens get his things packed back up, ignoring his grumbling to be easy with his things as she shoved them into his duffel with speed. "No, change of plans from the top. We're taking a chartered flight. Ranma? Help me here?"

The teacher's sense of urgency seemed to infect the teens, as everyone moved a bit faster from that point. Ranma did a round of those straggling behind, with a few others pitching in here and there as they picked up on their escort's haste. By the time the group was boarding the twin-engine charter plane, the group was practically running, the divisive lines from earlier forgotten as they pulled one another along, helping when someone stumbled under their luggage.

Settling aboard the plane which had barely allowed them all to board before beginning to taxi, the teens watched as their two minders got into a hushed argument, near the front seats. The anxiety permeating the air rose to a boiling point, as Ranma pointed out toward the airport, which was passing by their windows slowly. "...and they're just going to call in some crap to try and get us grounded or delayed again. You know how those bastards work, Nicky."

"They can't ground us with nothing," the teacher asserted, folding her arms with a cross look on her face. "And don't call me Nicky."

Ranma winced, then shook her head hard. "Whatever, look. I'm just saying we need to be ready for the worst—"

"And I'm saying you're being paranoid!" Nicole snapped, whipping a finger forward to poke the shorter teen in the chest. "No one is out to get you or Serena. You are safe here. Relax."

Murphy proved he was ready, willing, and able to take a statement like that, and turn it into a massive cosmic joke at a moment's provocation. The first sign that things were not going to go as smoothly as the teacher claimed became clear as the plane cleared the airport's shadow, emerging onto the miles of tarmac that served the facility. There, waiting like a vulture in the desert, hovered a powder-blue, blocky, menacing form that any mutant or human awake for fifteen minutes in the last thirty years would recognize. An MCO drop and assault ship, powered by an antigrav coil and capable of variable air attack and with an onboard compliment of trained personnel hand picked and polished to be the nightmare of mutants around the world. As if sensing the smaller aircraft's intent, the dropship cantered around a few degrees to allow its main weapons to have full angle of attack on the commercial plane, then sat down with a heavy 'whumph' of taxed suspension sleds across two of the nearest runways.

The reason for the ship's heavy posture became clear, when three full suits of powered armor were disgorged from the sides of the vehicle along with a full platoon of MCO combat support soldiers, ranging from suppression to tactical.

Ranma watched the small but lethal display with a rising rage that caused her jaw to clench, and her breathing to start coming in deep, rapid bellows. Nicole missed that detail as she paled, shaking her head in disbelief, "Not a goddamn word, Ranma. Not a word."

"Was going to take a raincheck anyway," Ranma muttered, eyes scanning over the forces arrayed against them. "Damn it. It just had to be the MCO, didn't it? Get the pilot on the horn, tell them to get this thing off the ground, _now_."

By this time, the din from the students was rising, those present that had fears of anti-mutant prejudice suddenly feeling the threat such organizations represented in stark detail. Those new to their situation looked on in bewildered anxiety, clearly understanding what whatever was about to happen, it wasn't good. They were quickly brought into the fold as their companions whispered horror stories of prejudice, 'disappeared' mutants, and violence care of those clearly waiting for them.

Nicole looked at the redhead she'd brought to America from Japan incredulously. "What? We can't take off with them waiting out there to gun us down!"

"Not going to have to worry about that," Ranma growled, before snapping her burning glare to the occupants of the passenger cabin. More specifically, a particular blonde occupant. "Us— Serena," she barked, drawing the listless blue eyes away from the gathering storm to herself. "You stay with Nicky. _Do not get off this plane to come after me_."

The rest of those witnessing the rising debacle stared as it became clear what a mutant their age that they'd just met was planning. Some paled, a few shook their heads, but all felt a grudging respect for the kind of mettle it had to take to even consider what Ranma was clearly thinking of.

Not slow by any reckoning, Nicole Ross spun the petite young woman around with an expression of pure incredulity. "Are you crazy? You can't handle them by yourself – and you shouldn't even be thinking about it! Making trouble with the MCO is—"

Ranma didn't take the time to argue the point, instead choosing to frog-march the squawking and protesting teacher up towards the cockpit, while explaining, "Livewire, do us all a favor and shut up. I'll meet you in Colorado. Just get Serena, yourself, and the other kids the hell out of here."

"Damn it, you can't—"

"Can, will, and am going to," Ranma countered, shoving the woman into the cockpit before closing the door, doing something with a nearby metal pipe that fouled the handle. Back in the passenger cabin, she nodded to Derrick. "Let her out after takeoff."

"Uh... sure."

Ranma then turned to Serena, the blonde she'd spent most of the wait sitting beside. "Stay put. I'll see you later."

With that, she shouldered open the door to the craft, being sure to send it slamming shut hard enough behind her to latch itself shut once more. She just hoped someone checked to make sure – a decompressing cabin was not going to make that flight comfortable for the people she'd left behind.

She put those thoughts out of her mind as she turned to the Mutant Commission Office forces arrayed before her, cutting off the plane from the sky. The black rage rose up again, and this time, she didn't put up so much as a token resistance, reveling in the power that spiked through her with a nearly orgasmic sense of release. Only her anger and focus kept the moment from turning ugly, as the first of the MCO's number began their assault, launching a few smoking gas grenades her way.

AN: Ultimately, I didn't know what I wanted to do with this. It wasn't something planned out with an end, so much as a middle, and a possible start. Part of the inspiration I will be using in another fic, however.


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: I mentioned some time ago in an AN about a Ranma/Aion crossover? Well, here you go. The image will be variable, but there's a plot-based reason for it. Which I don't get to much. Oops.

—

**_Winging It_**

Despite his father's best efforts, Ranma wasn't an idiot. Ignorant – yes. He'd admit that grudgingly. Capable of fixing it? Given enough time and the opportunity to do so, yes again.

Had he been given the time and materials – Damn his father for throwing away every book he managed to get his hands on – he could have warned them off these supposed training grounds.

Had he been given the opportunity and time – Damn Genma again, for never letting him settle in one place beyond some stupid scheme or plot – he could have come to understand that such a remote place with danger signs and a caretaker who did not look or move like a martial artist, could not really be a training ground.

Had he been given a different or at least less idiotic parent, Ranma wouldn't be hurtling into one of these undoubtedly cursed pools, head first.

Too bad for him, it wasn't a very deep pool, either.

–

Nodoka was going to kill him.

There really wasn't anything else to think. Oh, he wasn't at fault for this, really! That ingrate son of his was the one that couldn't dodge his cursed form, after all.

No more heir. His mind kept repeating that, though there was an undertone of guilt that he refused to face. He should have realized that pool was shallow and compensated! Foolish boy...

He'd seen him hit the pool, then seen his form shimmer. The spill of red was... Genma steeled himself. He'd return to Nerima, and face his wife, and tell her that her son died nobly, training to be that man among men she desired.

Then he'd escape and never return. It wouldn't be the first agreement he fled from.

But first, he had to escape the mob of vengeful Chinese warrior women, who seemed more than a little pissed off at him for eating that buffet.

–

Ranma awoke to a very unpleasant feeling. First off, his head hurt – a lot. More than he'd ever felt before, and it wasn't going away. "Concussion," he noted to himself silently, realizing that even thinking seemed to hurt. That was new, and not welcome. His second realization was that something just felt wrong, and it was centered on his back. Steeling himself for the coming nausea, the young martial artist turned onto his side, reeling as the headache began a new cadence of hammering in his skull. The nausea didn't worsen, though there was a nasty pulling sensation in his gut that ran through him like an electric shock. That could_ not_ be good.

But whatever was going on with his back felt less uncomfortable, so it was fine. For some reason or another, that had caused him more annoyance than even that cold wrongness in his stomach that wouldn't settle. One step at a time. Perhaps in a few hours, he'd chance opening his eyes, even. Right now, there was the distinct possibility that doing so would cause his head to burst.

"Hey. Enough sleeping. We've got to finish this patrol," a voice far too loud and near boomed into his consciousness. "Damned stygians. What by the Abyss did they plan to do with all this? Hey, I... Light, what_ happened_ to you, Guardian?"

Having no idea what the man meant, he tried to answer, ask a question, but all he could feel was a faint bubbling of fluid in his chest. Warning bells flared in the martial artist's mind, and he tried to cough, realizing with a stark clarity that for the last few minutes, he'd barely taken a full breath. Something behind him flailed in his panic, and a stifling warmth seemed to swallow him. He should move, struggle, try to get out of it... The strength wasn't in him to do so, however. When did that happen?

"Light above..._ Healer! Now!_ I need a healer here! Someone get her out of the water!"

He'd thank the man when he woke up, Ranma promised himself. And who was he talking about?_ Her?_

–

Cologne sat near the head of the Jusenkyo Guide's bed, her face set in a pensive frown. She could understand the older man's reaction – not the Guide, but the fat glutton she'd had her warriors 'see out' of the valley – to the wound she'd taken. Her unbound hair would have been a rather dramatic thing to see, from a haze of panic after seeing such a fall. Still, there were... other concerns she had to admit, taking in the youth's full condition. "You've seen nothing like this before, then?"

The Guide shook his head, eyes still glued to the figure on the pallet he used for bedding. He shook his head again, hands worrying at the hat he'd taken off out of some impulse some time ago. "No, Elder. The Musk and sometimes the Phoenix come to use the spring often. Never has one been affected so."

"And her wound?"

Again, the Guide shook his head. "Never before. Blood in the spring only makes the change stronger, but this... no. Nothing like this."

"I notice you didn't say 'curse'." A wince was her reply. "Yes, I understand. I was just... checking. She does have a certain aura about her, doesn't she?"

Hating to do so, considering what he knew of the Joketsuzoku, the Guide still had a duty to perform. "Ah, Elder... the young one was a man, before falling into the pool..."

Cologne waved the man's concerns away. "I am not a fool. Ambitious and driven to see the Joketsuzoku take their place as the leaders they are, but not a fool." Her eyes strayed to the still-healing additions to the young woman laying on her side, asleep before her. "As much as I would relish the idea of binding one such as this to the tribes, the retribution would be... unthinkable."

The Guide nodded fervently.

"See that she..._ he_, is tended to. When he awakens, send for me. Do and say nothing else."

Despite the fact the Guide worked for no single village or people, he did owe the Joketsuzoku some slight loyalty. They at least treated him as a human, if not an equal. He would abide by the Elder's request... for the most part. He looked down at the fitfully resting redhead, and what spanned behind her, nearly to the wall. Loyalty was one thing, but crossing the divine, of either persuasion, was not on his list of things to tempt fate with.

–

A month after his son's tragic training accident, Genma found solace the most usual place.

The arms of his long-estranged wife.

Nodoka had ranted, screamed, and raved at him for hours, but in the end she had clung to him as if he were the only thing stable she knew. Beneath the veneer and hard shell of his ambitions and desires for a true martial heir, Genma Saotome recalled that he had loved this woman, once. Loved her enough to marry her, despite both their family's objections.

The home was looking less forlorn now. They had cleaned and opened the rooms that were long-disused. Ranma's... they had boxed the dead boy's things up, storing them. His shrine sat in the small den, taking the central place now. The Dojo had been aired, mats replaced, tiles and signs repainted.

Genma was teaching, between days where he would work with a kind doctor of Acupuncture and Shiatsu, Tofu Ono. He'd gotten in contact with the man through his old associate Soun. As it turned out, Tendo had lost his wife, some time after he'd left on that ill-fated training trip. Shared loss brought the two closer, and they considered their past with wearier and clearer eyes.

Many a night was spent by the three adults, recalling the old days, reliving their wilder youths. Soun, without the promise of a son-in-law to take over for him some time while his daughters were young and single, followed in his friend's footsteps and reopened his own Dojo. Akane grew and mellowed, as her instruction continued.

The Tendo patriarch despaired to think what would have happened to his youngest, with her incomplete education. She'd learned almost accidentally how to tap into her ki using her anger, but such a thing in time would have destroyed her. Now, he could help lead her back to more healthy uses for her ki, though it would take a long time. Power was hard to simply give up, and for a martial artist, ki was a sweet lure.

Kasumi, her father now behaving more like the label deserved, got out a bit more, but she was still timid and more comfortable at home. She socialized with her college friends, once she began attending, but it was hesitant. Tentative.

As for Nabiki, Soun let her make her mistakes, and reap the rewards. With her record now blemished, the middle Tendo had to work all the harder to make up for the loss, but she did so realizing that she had no one else to blame. If she wanted a real life, she'd have to work for it, like everyone else.

A lot can happen in a year. The world could even change.

–

Returning the slight bow he'd been given by the Elder, Ranma smiled faintly, before straightening to give his report. "The eastern border is secured. What few Musk were about, are either fertilizing those fields, or running back to their kennels."

"Excellent work, Ranma," the beaming face of Cologne praised. "With that upstart Herb goading them, the barbarians have been getting cocky. It was high-time someone put them in their place." Her smiled dimming somewhat, the Elder rubbed at her nose. "Tell me, though... which form were you wearing?"

Ranma's expression visibly brittled at the expected question. "_Her_."

Cackling, the Joketsuzoku Elder clapped her hands. "Excellent. Herb will be walking on eggshells for years over that. A dragonspawn he may be, but even dragons bow before someone."

Though he was happy to help them in return for their hospitality, a little part of Ranma disliked the lie of appearance that the Elders put forward. It was bad enough he was treated as something wholly different by the entire tribe, though at least not in a negative way. It was something of an unstated rule that his female form be treated as the one he was born with, rather than the truth. He wondered if that was put in place merely to curry favor and gain his support in their war efforts due to his other form's talents, or for some other cause.

More than one male among the Joketsuzoku had sent him dire looks over that double standard, not that they would dare back them up and cross the Elders who held the village in the palm of their hand. But to use what had happened to him to intimidate the other two tribes bordering Jusenkyo?

And Ranma knew the tales of this prince Herb. The three villages were not so isolated from one another as they might imagine, he thought. Cologne would never consent to the consequences of getting Herbs attention, and could not even if she wanted to, but now there was tale of a fiery-haired warrior even the dragon-prince would pause to confront among the Joketsuzoku. That would either bring war to their steps... or a bride-hunt. Most likely the latter, as the half-dragon prince could not take his throne without a wife.

Female he may be at times, but being a bride would never be on his list of things to do. How would Cologne handle such a thing? Would she try to sell him off for a peace treaty? He had no illusions on what precisely he was to the tribe of warrior women. Ranma, to them, was a resource. Useful, unique, but not something they would endanger themselves over.

Perhaps... yes. Perhaps it was time to leave behind the comforts of the Joketsuzoku, to seek out his past. They had been more than kind to take him in despite how strange his situation had become. He'd spent a year sorting out his fragmented mind, piecing together the two lives that were there now. One spanned nearly ten times the years that he could recall as the one named Ranma, but they were full of bloody conflict and war, and enemies he could not even imagine before the curse. Fights in what seemed vast empty nothingness, with power flowing around like water in the ocean. Battles between those who resembled what he'd become and darker, sinister kin. Wars sometimes against, sometimes three-sided as they pushed back The Others who pushed through the broken walls of reality, to corrupt and enslave. Sometimes, he – though the one in those memories was_ her_ – fought for one side... and sometimes, the other. Lately, those memories had turned darker. Stained, somehow.

He pushed back those memories as best he could, but even within his own mind Ranma found himself the minority at times. The only saving grace to the situation he could find knowing that both he and the one who held those memories shared many basic points of view, and opinions. The foundation of them all remained the same, which gave Ranma some peace of mind – one used their strength to protect those who could not protect themselves. Mostly. Later, they turned, and became vengeful, full of hate and the need to destroy... but luckily that time was brief. Though that similarity served as an anchor, he knew some day... some day those memories would need to be addressed. He knew it as surely as the sun rose, that there would be some kind of reckoning, between himself and the life he knew but never lived.

Ranma knew well who he was, however, even within the maelstrom of a century and a half of war that raged in his mind. His memories were not so broken as to hide that. A year among the Joketsuzoku taught him much, and more than anything else, he wanted to find his father and demand answers. It took time but he learned their language, and then from Cologne, his own. Ranma had been amazed at how badly he'd been taught such basic things as reading and writing. More than that though, he was stunned by how the Joketsuzoku treated children. He'd watched the young warriors-to-be being raised, cherished, and loved... and not even in the broken memories of another life could he find such things. No, Ranma knew his own life well enough, and he still bore the scars, physical and mental.

Yes, there was much he wanted answers to. He would begin by hunting down the man he once called father, and this time he wouldn't get the chance to run away.

He would not be hasty, however. He would consult his sword-sister, and hear her suggestion as well. She was an excellent tracker, and a fellow warrior, and Ranma valued her opinion on such things more than most.

–

A stiff wind scattered the leaves by the koi pond behind the Tendo home. A scent of fire and distant cold was felt through the small gust. Nodoka and Kasumi paused in their discussion of what to do with the nearby garden, while Soun and Genma looked to the sky.

"An ill omen, old friend."

Genma nodded, pushing his glasses up. "Perhaps we should leave before the rain begins? Doka-chan, we wouldn't want you catching cold, what with-"

"Dear, I'm pregnant, not made of glass," the redheaded woman chided. "And for your information, I miss walking in the rain on occasion."

Booming a laugh, the large martial artist nodded. "Very well then. We shall wait till the rain is coming down in sheets!"

Nodoka smiled fondly, shaking her head slightly at her husband's antics. Still, she couldn't shake the strange feeling that things were going to change soon... and not for the better.

–

At the gates, Ranma turned one last time to take in the sights of his brief home. Almost idly, he reached up to trace the scar, hidden by his hair, that had served as a key to that peace, odd and punctuated by fights against the Musk as it had been. Compared to the memories of two lives, his time among the Joketsuzoku had been almost idyllic. Full of work, training, and the odd dance that was politics among the matriarchal society, but it felt peaceful to him.

Despite it, however, he was not one of them. He had accepted adoption of sorts, taking on a sword-sister, but nothing more. He'd refused challenges and set terms before any fight publicly and openly, crushing any hopes of securing ties that would bind him through accidental marriage. The Guide had taught him that one thing, pushing him to understand and recognize it, and he had learned. Cologne had been harsh on those that had tried seeming to acknowledge his request, but Ranma had felt that was due more to her own goals possibly being compromised. She seemed too ambiguous in her reactions, and to deny such things seemed out of character for her.

The impromptu challenge from his sister as he was saying his farewells, Shampoo being great granddaughter to the Elder Cologne, had proven that suspicion. He had refused the challenge, but Cologne, to his rising annoyance, had overridden him. So, he'd offered to fight... on his terms alone. He had bet on Cologne calling his bluff, and before his death-strike could end his adopted sister, the Elder had deflected the blow. No Kiss was given, as the fight had been interrupted.

Ranma had picked up his tiny pack without a second look, until he reached the gates. There waiting for him, stood Cologne and Shampoo. "Are you going to try something else to force me to stay, granny?"

The Elder winced, knowing that the strange young man never called her such unless he was truly annoyed. He respected ability and skill, and unlike some, showed it. "Forgive me, Ranma, but we are a proud people, and you present a unique... situation."

"I know about your laws, I have lived here for a year, you know," the annoyed youth replied. "You messed up. I trusted you, and you go behind me and try to force someone I see as my sister on me?" Furious, the young man turned to Shampoo. "And you! What have you to say about this?"

The violet-haired woman flinched at the anger in that glare, looking down and away from her oath-broken sister. "Nothing, Ranma. I can only do as I am told-"

"Bullshit," Ranma replied lividly. "You've proven time and again you have your own mind. Use it!" Growling in irritation, he turned to move by the two. "Cologne... this was low, even for you."

The Elder bowed slightly again. "I do what I do for the strength of Joketsuzoku."

Something_ bent_ within him with his fury, and Ranma felt the odd twist of energies that hallmarked the less-obvious parts of his change stirring. His blade suddenly in hand, the furious youth stilled his anger. "Then remember what I'm capable of, when angry," Ranma ordered, before looking at his hand. It was not a small sword by any means, regardless of how weightlessly he wielded it. Nearly as long from the tip of blade to the delicately shaped and tooled pommel as he was tall, the greatsword resembled an artful cross of fire, leaf, and feather made from a metal that seemed as much silver sometimes as gold. Sweeping and curving along its length, the blade was as wide as his profile, making the thing look oppressively heavy. To anyone else who tried to wield it, it was. To him, however, it resembled those things it drew inspiration from.

Ranma regarded the blade, a symbol of his anger. Something he'd never turned against these people, and never wanted to. But this... it was too much like the past. Like_ him_. The blade shattered and dissipated like a flight of startled fireflies, motes of light and dark fading into the evening air. "_If_ I return, you'll know I've forgiven you."

Massive wings of white and silver burst into being from the youth's back, before a sickly pall swept across them, twisting and distorting what, for a brief moment, seemed perfection. Black and wicked, oily as only a carrion-bird's wings could be, they stretched only to curl in quiet menace around the youth, pinions looking as deadly as the blade he sometimes wielded. Without another word, the sky broke, as Ranma leapt into the blue above, leaving the village of Joketsuzoku behind him possibly for the last time.

A brief conversation between Shampoo and her Elder occurred, before the girl retrieved a full pack from a waiting guard, and left as well.

–

On a small island teeming with people, five young women and a brave young man gave up everything, to push back an evil that they felt could end the world. It might have been able to, had it not been nearly blasted into oblivion once before... but perspective is a very interesting lens.

They sacrificed regardless, and triumphed. Returned to their lives, as if they weren't wielding powers out of scale for their apparent opponents. Oh, they were clumsy and unskilled, but a man with a sledgehammer kills a fly as well as one with a swatter.

Time would temper them. She had to.

–

Flight was taxing, though that was nothing new to Ranma. A year adjusting to his new wings had given him more than enough time to become familiar with them. A number of things had become apparent, in that time. For one, he could cover more ground in his female form, it being both lighter and with a better connection to that odd ability to weave ki out of the world around himself for another. However useful it was, it was difficult, and took time to find the proper frame of mind and center to do so. More than once he pondered that skill, a remembered thing, and why it felt like the world resisted his efforts.

Part was due to form, he understood now. After all, it wasn't as if his male form had always born such abilities. After Cologne noted the odd reddish highlights coming into his hair in his male form, Ranma restricted himself to using most of those newfound abilities, as well as the wings, in his cursed form. The fear that the curse was bleeding over into his normal body was enough to make him very wary about using those new skills outside of the change.

As it was, it was strange enough that he could use anything at all. According to Cologne and the Guide, the bleed-over most encountered occurred in the mind. Within the Joketsuzoku village, he was introduced to few of their warriors who were either punished or had accidentally fallen into the springs, and he saw what they meant. Almost all carried some small portion of their curse with them constantly.

None however, to the degree he did. It was almost as if the curse had been too much for even a changed body to bear, and so split itself between his forms. Definitely a scary thought, considering those memories he had were all of a woman. Ranma suppressed a shudder at the memory one particularly unlucky person he'd been introduced to, who had broken the tribal taboo on purposefully visiting the springs for their own benefit. Their cursed form had originally been that of a small dog, a rather humiliating thing really for a warrior he understood. Thinking they could counter the curse with water from the Spring of Drowned Girl, they'd gone through with their plan... but the results had mixed, rather than replace one another. Now, though her form was indeed much different and almost human, she also had the dishonor of the tribe's law against her. Though, she did serve as a visual deterrent for those that thought to cheat their way out of their curses.

To Ranma however, it brought a more worrisome point home. What would his curse do to him, if it continued to bleed over? Even being fully female in body was preferable to some half-form of either. The Joketsuzoku weren't the kind of people he wanted to spend his life around, but they were good for countering a lot of Genma's supposed teachings, specifically those against the fairer sex. For the life of him, Ranma wondered what it was his father had against women... it seemed like any time they came up in conversation, he was putting them down, deriding their ability, or outright disregarding them entirely. He, however, learned better. All the veteran warriors and Elders would have made Ranma's father look like a fool in a real contest, he knew. He'd trained with them, fought beside them, and even bled in battle alongside them. He counted himself lucky that the biased old man wasn't around after his curse, though the bitterness of being left behind was still there. Was that why he abandoned him? Why he was left to drown in those cursed waters, to be rescued by the Guide?

The curse still bothered him, despite his seeming if grudging acceptance of it. For all he wanted a cure, wanted to return to normal, the worry that the curse would blend across and that he'd have to live his life as some hybrid man-woman haunted him. Ranma wouldn't like it, would fight it till he was certain, but he'd take being a woman full-time to being a freak. But that, if it ever started to happen at all, would be a long time off if Cologne were to be trusted, and he was being careful.

Which was why he was currently female, crossing the forests and small cities by night on silent wings.

It had taken two months for the martial artist to remember, through those fragmented memories, how to dismiss and recall those wings. Such things were nearly instinct now, though that had sometimes been a problem of its own.

Shanghai drove this point home.

Currently female, as she had spent most of the previous day flying and needed to recharge, Ranma rested on the roof of a tall building. Having spent little time in large cities and even less watching current television, the redhead saw the helipad as a very inviting landing spot, if not understanding what it truly was. She thought nothing of the warnings and symbols, as she was used to ignoring such things with Genma around anyway, and the Joketsuzoku had little reference to them. She intended no harm, and had no intent to steal anything... simply sitting couldn't be so bad, right?

Which is why she was startled from her meditation by the loud sound of a landing helicopter, and the_ cli-clack_ of weapons being brought to bear. Blinking her eyes open, she watched as four men with automatic rifles hopped from the still hovering machine, approaching her warily. Ranma puzzled at why these people were so upset with her. "Um, hello?" she hazarded in Mandarin, hoping she wouldn't offend anyone.

Apparently, wherever it was she'd landed wasn't the kind of place where they were forgiving. Two of the men advanced on her quickly, their posture clearly stating they meant to fight and subdue her, but Ranma would have none of that. As the first made a grab for her, she spun around his clumsy attempt, crouching before launching herself in a fast line for his companion. Caught flat-footed, the second man went down quickly to a heavy strike to his jaw, jerking his head upward. Spinning in place, she sent the first, who was only then regaining his feet, back to the ground with a hard axe-kick to the collar.

Instinct was the only thing that saved her. Ranma twisted at that energy within her that fed off her ki to become something_ else_, and called on her wings by reflex, as a hail of lead thundered toward her. In a muted flare of light, her pinions burst free from her back, the feathers this time remaining a pristine white. The silver accents that resembled armor glinted along the leading edge of each wing, ending in a wicked blade at the point where the greater bones met the smaller at a bend. It was that armor that sat like a shield before her, deflecting bullets but still driving the slight girl back toward the edge.

The man in a crisp uniform that looked disturbingly military stomped forward from a group of three others, gesturing toward the ground and shouting something that the redhead couldn't quite make out, through the ringing in her ears. Peeking from between her enclosed wings, she watched as the men put themselves between her and the helicopter. Rifles at the ready, the men waited uneasily, till the lead man barked out his questions, "What are you? Why are you up here? This is a restricted area!"

Realizing that admitting she just landed to gather her reserves would sound stupid, Ranma laughed nervously. What to say, what to say... "Er, I was looking for the restroom?" Despite her weariness, she had enough energy to glide off the roof if needed, so the martial artist backed toward the edge, trying to appear as anxious as she felt. Hopefully they wouldn't see her as a threat...

A muted voice said something from the helicopter, and the lead man stiffened, raising his rifle in a clearly threatening manner. "On the ground, hands behind your head! Now!"

So much for that idea, Ranma groused. "Look, I didn't know this wasn't someplace I could rest-"

"Do it,_ Now!_" The clatter of the other rifles again trained on her sounded loudly over the darkened rooftop.

Muttering, Ranma spent a fraction of ki, and leapt up and back. Gunshots ripped into the place she'd been, some tracking better if still not well enough. Luck had them miss her, or graze off the brief armor along her wings. As she cleared the lip of the rooftop and out of view, Ranma shifted her position and turned, facing the ground. Gliding across the span of a block in a heartbeat, she turned and touched down, sending great plumes of dust and debris away from the wind of her landing. A moment later, she looked back from her new perch on a nearby but shorter skyscraper, as the men on the other stared in muted shock.

Heaving a sigh, Ranma dismissed her wings in a scattering of fast-fading motes of light. "So much for subtlety. May as well find someplace to sleep and change. No way I can fly across the East China Sea to Nagasaki on my current reserves, and red hair stands out too much after something like that." As she made her way to the street from the roof of the building, Ranma decided she definitely needed to better hide her nature. Though the Joketsuzoku had accepted her without question, if not without expectation, the modern world would find the sudden appearance of someone who resembled an angel pretty startling. Current events proved that well enough. Add in her other talents and how those wings changed if she was taken by some strong emotion...

The less said about western zealots and their apocalypse fetish, the better.

Settled in a run-down if tenable room after changing with hot water, Ranma slept fitfully, worrying over his upcoming meeting with Genma. At least, his supposed meeting... would he have returned to Japan? From the few letters and postcards the Joketsuzoku had managed to find in the man's pack, after he abandoned it to flee them, it would appear that someone of Ranma's family other than the old man was still alive and currently living in southern Nerima. That was his best bet to track him down. Troublesome however was another letter, from a man named Tendo asking about his 'future son-in-law'. That demanded attention as well, since it stank of Genma's usual idiocy, something he'd grudging come to recognize, if retroactively. A new perspective did a lot to clue Ranma in on what had truly happened with his childhood. Genma had much to answer for.

–

The surf churned and spat up in the wake of her crossing, as Ranma cursed her pride for leading her into a stupid situation yet again.

"And what made me think I could cross four-hundred some odd miles of ocean again?" Feeling her reserves quickly emptying, the redheaded martial artist calculated the distance she'd crossed, and swore again. It would be at least another day before she could make landfall, and that was if she could rest and recoup, and draw in enough natural chi to restore herself and her new reserves. Oh, sure she was nearly halfway there, but that was her limit at this speed. She flew well, and often far, but this... with no place to rest and only the sea below, she would soon be stuck with swimming. Would, except for her exhaustion. Ranma realized with a something more than a little worry that she desperately needed a full night's sleep, to rest and recharge her reserves.

She couldn't do that while swimming, of course.

Luck was on her side, however, as she spied a supertanker making its slow way in the same direction, some couple kilometers to the south. Cutting her speed to something more reasonable – she could fly very fast, she'd learned early on – Ranma paced the vessel, flitting around it like a curious moth.

Seeing a likely place to rest, she settled atop one of the thing's belching smoke-stacks, holding her breath as she dirtied a broad cloth from her pack. Satisfied if somewhat disgusted, she dropped to a lower spot, on top of the bridge for the vessel. Another scan around the ship showed that it was unlikely that anyone would see her here, as there were no other places one could really go that were higher up to give them that vantage.

Satisfied, Ranma let her weariness overcome her, curling the filthy blanket around herself. It wasn't much, but it would help to keep the idle observer from spotting her outright.

–

Dreams, as they usually came, rode the fragments of memory, and felt far too vivid for Ranma's liking.

She stood along the outer edge of a massive floating platform... no. Memory speared into place, causing her eyes to narrow beneath the ornate helm she wore. It wasn't a platform, so much as a vast island, supported by the energies of this broken place. Aether, her memory supplied, as the name for the almost tangible spirit-stuff that she breathed in like sweet incense. Behind her she knew rose a massive and wildly spiraling citadel, a thing of impossible angles, materials, and physics in her waking world. Here, it was almost modest, compared to... to... She shook her head, glaring about herself.

It would take time.

The dream-world shifted again, and rather than the comforting stability of her previous perch she found herself amid a vast melee. No, at the head of it, as behind her the forces of her homeland clashed against their darker kin, blood and screams echoing about the unstable core of this befouled place as all around her death walked among the living. The Defiling ones had come, and tainted all that they had passed, nesting in the sanctum beyond most likely, and with the resources of this place for the conqueror, all that could rallied to make war. Her dark-spawned kin and her own people clashed there, fighting for the right to possess such value. It was her job to cut a path through them, and secure what the Others had touched, claiming it. If such fell into the Fallen's hands, then even the cities of her home would be threatened.

Where behind her was war, before her lay destruction given form. An engine of unmaking larger than anything she'd seen before these increasingly regular attacks, the Guardian resembled her own kind only marginally. Massive of form and wearing armor that was likely as thick as her own greatsword's blade, the corrupted sentinel stood impassive at the great doors leading inward to the heart of the citadel. Wings spread from its back, though rather than supplying flight, they were tuned to the energies of the broken world around them. Aether siphoned slowly to power the siege warrior, in much the same way it did for her. The once pristine armor looked rusted and fouled, though that wasn't the case. It was likely as strong as before, if not stronger, due to the Defiler's touch. A she inspected her foe, her waking mind brought images from fanciful fictions to the fore, and she grinned savagely. Yes, it did somewhat resemble those massive mechanical suits of war, mentioned in anime and manga.

Perhaps there was some tender kernel of flesh and blood at the center of this thing, she could pry loose, in fact. A pilot. That course in mind, she ripped aether from the air, breathing it into her core where it ignited like wildfire. Around her, combatants slowed and grew lethargic as she literally drained the surrounding area of life, in preparation for the battle to come. Reaching out again, she snared the threads that the Guardian tied to itself, denying it the same life-giving aether on which to function. Those further away took advantage of the lull, cutting down those who had strayed too close like so much wheat before the scythe.

She regarded the thing before her with a hungry smile, as her acts were seen as an attack, and it readied itself. A Guardian may be powerful, but it was only a thing, with a purpose. She was purpose, with a will. Infusing her greatsword with a defensive shell of power that snapped into place as rotating bands of arcane symbols, she slammed her wings against the air, charging the thing that stood five times her own height.

Its own massive weapon, a halberd that could have easily made a decent ship's keel or mast, came snapping forward with a howl of shattered air. Her spells held, as she parried the initial strike, the counter-blast of released energy throwing the polearm back and away while leaving her unharmed and undeterred in her charge. Staggered by the impossible counter, the Guardian reeled in surprise. Within range of her foe, she twisted more aether into her core, slamming it into her weapon, forcing it to blazing life as she struck again and again in a blistering hail of blows. Her blade was alight, resembling nothing now so much as holy fire and wrath given form, driven before a similar divine rage.

The Guardian and the entire cavernous room shook with the fury of her attack. The war behind her slowed as those gathered watched one of their own batter at the towering sentinel as if it were a trivial opponent, not a pinnacle of power.

They of course didn't comprehend the sheer volume of power she was drawing on, or the cost. Oh, she, possibly more than any of her kin, had learned how to harness and perfect her grasp of internal energies, but nothing in this world of destruction came cheaply. Even as she drove the Guardian back against the very wall and doorway it protected, her wings grew more and more tattered, feathers curling like dry leaves before splintering along their shafts.

Well within her opponent's guard and driven before her onslaught, the tempest of fury drew on the thing's own energies this time, weakening it as she pushed herself further toward that vast chasm that marked her limit. It was not so far away this time, she noted dispassionately. No matter. This may not be her last battle, but that one would come soon enough. She would endure. She would conquer. She would not fall until her purpose was achieved.

She took in the destruction wrought from her fury and smiled. Its own wings and arms a ruin of broken armor and tattered organic machinery, the Guardian had started relying on its weaker grasp of aether-shaping to defend itself. Another assault left the thing's torso a twisted ruin of shattered armor, where she didn't just reach out and peel it back like some irritating fruit rind, hiding a delectable core. More spells rocketed toward her, and she contemptuously batted away such a feeble effort, simultaneously shattering its final shield with a kick, before driving her own massive blade into the armored giant's coldly inhuman eye.

Her blade told her that it had found that kernel of weakness, and she howled in victory and pain, as all the remaining aether she could spare was thrust into her weapon, turning it into a conduit of holy fire.

The Guardian shuddered, before going silent, the many points where it gathered power going dim. All around the battlefield, her kin rallied and drove their enemies back, crushing their desperate attempts to capture the sanctum of the citadel now that the defenses had been shattered. Even as the battle surged and ebbed toward a final decisive point, the change in the air was impossible to ignore when it came.

Where the Guardian had fallen silent, a hissing sound of metal being sheared apart sounded, as the one who struck it down ripped her blade free. From her wavering hand a vast circle of symbols sprang into being, spinning madly for a moment before sinking into the defeated sentinel. Over the din of battle, her voice echoed easily, if wearily. "Rise again, Guardian. Your purpose is not yet done."

The fortress shuddered to life once more, as the vast figure of the Guardian caught and cradled the now unmoving warrior as she fell, insensate but still faintly awake. The sound of the sentinel's massive halberd striking and shattering the vast mosaic that made up the chamber's floor echoed far beyond the walls of the citadel, alerting those still battling unawares beyond the inner chambers to pause. Pushing itself upright, the sentinel drew in power from the structure around it, as it too siphoned aether from the vast ocean beyond the walls. Armor mended, limbs straightened and strengthened as a silvery cast washed over the previously dull-hued and corrupted Guardian. Revitalized and renewed, it cradled the one to whom it owed allegiance in one massive gauntlet, while striking out at the now fleeing army with roaring flames from the other.

"By the order of the Lady Rashiel, none shall pass to the inner sanctum," the massive being rumbled, reaching down to retrieve its weapon. Satisfied that her goal had been achieved, the one who now recalled her name, Rashiel, finally let herself fall into waiting unconsciousness.

–

Ranma jolted awake, sweating and shaking under her impromptu blanket. The dream lingered in her mind, as all the others had. With the dream came more knowledge, though at times the martial artist could have very easily done without such things. "Guardians," she muttered quietly, her mind racing, putting more pieces of the puzzle together.

Far along into Rashiel's life, she had earned the same title, though it came without the loss of self others found with being tasked with such a role, their minds bound into massive, inhuman sentinels. No, she was to become Guardian of something far greater. The petite redhead shivered at the memory. "No way am I ready to think about that. Not yet. No way..."

Pulling the filthy blanket from her face, Ranma blinked into the midday sun. The heat and humidity on the ship were stifling under the thing, and the soot-stink of the blanket, now that she paid attention to it, was cloying and made her want to gag. Pushing it away, she let her stomach settle. Despite it all however, the sun was glorious, shining down on what skin dirt and grime didn't coat. Ranma closed her eyes and soaked it in, letting a slow smile creep along her lips as her hair warmed quickly.

She breathed in, ignoring the smells, the pollution, the acid tang in the air, and focused on the energy. The life, contained in that light. Each slow, deep, shuddering breath filled a long-starved void within the young woman, and after nearly half an hour of basking so, she ended her reverie with a contented sigh.

Once, what seemed like a lifetime ago, she'd panicked over such things. Startled that she could slake that new and aching hunger within her by simply breathing in the ambient energy all around her, she'd demanded that Cologne tell her about the springs and their cures, to teach her everything she knew out of fear of losing herself to such urges. Her mind had nearly broken at the old woman's admittance that even if she could possibly correct the original gender curse, but what had happened to Ranma was wholly different. All other questions were forgotten, in the wake of that one fact.

Ranma had quietly composed herself, thanked the Elder, and returned to the home she shared with her sword-sister, Shampoo.

It would be the first and last time she had wept openly since the Neko-ken, that she could recall.

Her mind had been saved not by the intervention of friends, or the support of the Joketsuzoku, but by her discipline in the Art. Ten years adapting anything and everything into her style of Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū under her father didn't leave much in the way of weakness. There were definite flaws, and most of those involving women had been ground off with a vengeance by the Joketsuzoku, but she had survived the Neko-ken. She had not broken after everything else, no matter how terrible, how inhuman. To fall apart at her body changing? At gaining power, in some way? Because now she could fly? Hah! She could have been made into a dog or pig, and still found a way to keep her mind, and Art. This was a blessing!

Adapt or die. The unspoken creed of the Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū. And Ranma obviously still drew breath.

Recharged and ready she may be, but in the light of high day she dared not take to the air. Swimming was also out – the more energy she used for that, the less she would have for flying, and though Ranma knew she could swim very quickly, even waiting till night to fly would gain her more distance. Considering her options, Ranma used her limited grasp of the Hidden Weapons technique to retrieve her small satchel of belongings, sighing as the pressure against her ki was also relaxed.

Though it wasn't a very difficult thing to use, the ki-space technique was very taxing. It exchanged mass for energy, directly limiting the users supply of ki to accommodate the material they wished to store. The danger was obvious, so true masters of the skill were rare. One could easily exceed their potential for ki foolishly, and die as the space where all the material they held suspended leeched the life from them.

Ranma disliked using the skill much, as she was preternaturally aware of her own internal energies. Any segmentation, loss, or drain on them itched at her mind and made her uneasy. She never planned to expand her grasp or capability with the skill beyond what most of the Joketsuzoku did, that being something the size of a small traveling pack. In the case of the Hidden Weapons technique, she believed less to be more. After all, if she had so little ki for anything else, how could she fly, or fight, or even move and work at her peak?

No, it was not a skill she would master. Use lightly, however, yes indeed.

Ranma unpacked two books, some crude pencils, and a scroll of paper. Finding her latest dog-eared page, the redhead went to work practicing her Kana, dubiously attempting to catch up to a level that other young people her age would be at in such things. She could read and write Mandarin only barely, though speaking it was nearly second nature now since being immersed in the Joketsuzoku culture for a year, but she was not going to be traveling within China. Japan had its own language, and her grasp of writing it wasn't great. Being essentially itinerant with her father had left large holes in her education, but worse, the lack of constant practice and use left her skills in Japanese sitting at a much lower level than her age would suggest. Though she knew what work she did during her trip was mostly futile, with how much time she had to work with, Ranma continued with her practice. One thing she had definitely understood the lesson of, having been the ignorant and practically illiterate guest of those warrior women, was knowledge had quite a lot of power.

Her second book helped to remedy some of her more blaring faults.

It was, ironically, a Joketsuzoku's guide to dealing with the outside world. Basic etiquette, common pitfalls, a brief run-down on cultural mores and normal behavior. As a culture essentially cut off from the greater world and content to be so, the warrior tribes had done what they could to make any excursions to the world around them as painless as possible. It amazed Ranma for a while, initially, that the Joketsuzoku chose to live as they did. Sure they lost a few youths to the draw of the modern world – Cologne was working on persuading the other Elders that it was time for another boost in their own level of technology – but surprisingly, those that traveled abroad often returned with not only prospective husbands, but sometimes sisters as well.

As Cologne once put it, there was an appeal to their lifestyle, that the modern world could not match. To live each day by skill, in a world without pollution, without the eternal nuisance of overbearing government, with only one's own honor as a moral compass, rather than a huge snarl of staggering laws. Oh, the Joketsuzoku had their own laws, but they weren't terribly complicated, until one became entangled in a warrior's honor and the protection of their secrets. To save face and maintain their strength, outside threats had to be dealt with quickly and finally. Either they were annihilated, or assimilated. The security and future of the village demanded no less.

Ranma paused in her writing practice, frowning as she considered that. "Will they send an assassin for me, then? A spy, to see if after I tie up my loose ends, what I'll do?" She nibbled on the blunt side of her pencil idly. "Cologne knows what I'm capable of... would she risk me as an enemy?"

She knew she was powerful. Even before the curse, her abilities were well beyond those of similar-aged Joketsuzoku. Adding in what Rashiel's gift gave her... she could possibly, if unlikely, stand her ground against an Elder for a few minutes. She wouldn't win, but she wouldn't be a total loss either. The thought of fighting against the Joketsuzoku sapped what little good mood she retained from the midday's sunshine, as Ranma scowled in thought.

Killing was not something she was a stranger to. Not since the first Musk raid against where she was training with some younger warriors, and the realization of what the beast-men did with their captives. It was the first time she'd spilled blood willingly with the intent to kill, and the first time she'd manifested the sword that had eventually become somewhat iconic to her. Protecting the other young women had been a priority, and seeing that the Musk were well into their blood – and other – lusts, she'd had no choice. The Joketsuzoku would have executed them anyway, later, she had rationalized, but that excuse didn't clean her hands.

It had been the dreams, that finally scoured her imagined stains free. Not by lessening them, but by drenching the young martial artist. Almost as if it had been a trigger, the dreams of war began. Dreams of killing, of being wounded, of laying sick and feverish for weeks under poisons unknown. Dreams of burning twisted and dark icy citadels to ash, of hunting the Defiled, and of constant, unending, uncompromising war. Dreams of losing family, friends, loved ones, even entire cities... and later, dreams of loss so biting it left her curled up and retching into her pillow. Those dreams turned vile, bitter, and vengeful in ways she couldn't imagine, and more often than not, Ranma woke herself in a cold sweat after them.

Those memories of hundreds of years of war changed her, the redhead knew. It would have been impossible to come through unscathed, from them. Ranma would make the effort, as she always had, to end her fights peacefully. She would, as much as she could, restrain herself and match her opponents fairly. She would, as soon as it became clear, end the possibility of a real threat becoming more than just a risk.

If it became a fight between herself and one of the Joketsuzoku, then she knew what the stakes would be.

Finding herself utterly unable to concentrate, Ranma snorted and shoved her 'schoolwork' into the small satchel after removing a single clean large towel, wrinkling her nose as she tucked the bag behind herself and into nothing. Laying the towel on the roof of the ship's bridge, the redhead peeled off her clothing, folding and setting it aside.

"If I have to sit out in the sun and wait, may as well sun while I wait," she commented to the clear blue sky above.

–

Night finally came, and with it, the last leg of Ranma's trip. The tanker had covered a fair bit of distance, and it looked like she would be able to make it to her destination before it got much later, rather than just making landfall. Judging the time right, she twisted at her inner energies, letting her wings flare out behind her as she leapt into the air in a single motion. A few minutes of steady climbing, and she was gliding East toward Tokyo on the ocean-borne thermals.

"Nerima," she muttered faintly against the rush of metropolitan air. It wasn't as bad as the tanker, but had its own unpleasantness. Ranma didn't recall city air, the few times she'd smelled it, bothering her that much before. "Spent too long out in the wild," she surmised, forcing herself to speak Japanese with a little effort.

Considering her current state, the redhead grudgingly decided she needed either a change of clothes, or to wash her own. Opting for the former, she found a moneychanger who also offered some directions. She grinned afterward, at his confusion on asking which way Nerima was 'as the crow flies'.

Changed into a gender-neutral black, collared, button-down shirt that she'd done a quick sewing job on to give it vents in the back for her wings under some discreet pleats, and a pair of loose if thick white silk pants, Ranma felt wholly better about things. Clean clothes made a lot of difference in one's world view. A quick shower courtesy of a swimming pool changing room didn't hurt things either. The stall was tall enough so she didn't need to worry about shifting gender during her quick scrub-down, but regardless of her personal preference, Ranma shifted to female again before leaving. No sense in ruining the surprise by accidentally tripping over her target. She wanted to know why Genma left from his own lying, deceitful, thieving mouth, faced with a stranger, not his son. The man had too many wiles to deal with, as 'Ranma'.

There were two addresses she needed to scope out, in her attempt to find Genma, and the first had come up empty, initially. The postcard was mostly illegible, having been soaked before it was found during those first days after the Joketsuzoku warriors ran her father off, but the address at least survived. The name gave her pause, however. "Saotome? He managed to keep a house...? Nah. Has to be like a sister or something," she mused. Though she'd seen the name on the postcard, it hadn't hit home that she may have more relatives alive than just her father. Seeing that name on a home's tile made a part of her heart she'd long thought numb clench painfully. Ranma took in the property for a moment, noting the small feminine touches, but also quite a few details that reminded her of Genma. "Strange..." Confused and unsure of herself, Ranma sped off into the night to find the first address, thinking that she may have missed something.

On the way, she'd claimed some yakitori from a nearby vendor, and was currently nibbling on the sauce-stained stick when she saw her prey and a woman walking down the street, beside another middle-aged man and what looked like a small child of eight or nine years. Clenching the stick between her teeth, Ranma debated again which form she should approach in... and why. After only a little more than a year, Genma wouldn't have any problems recognizing her birth form, and she wanted answers... not a lot of crap about being ungrateful and dishonorable for taking a year to come back from the dead.

A slow, cruel smile spread across her face. "May as well introduce him to the curse while I ask..."

–

Tucking in her aura and energies as tight as possible, Ranma paced the small group as they walked. Despite her efforts, both the long-haired man with the mustache and her father seemed to at least know something was up. "Damn it," she cursed quietly. "Well, they do have a few decades on me yet. Best do this soon."

Ki was shunted into that hungry vortex in her core, and her body practically sang with the aether flowing through her. The call for her weapon was held at bay, merely a thought. On the street, the two older men stopped the small group, looking around warily.

Through keen ears, Ranma heard her father, "Old friend, was that...?"

"No, Saotome, I don't think so. It didn't feel the same."

She didn't let them discuss it further; her time was now. Leaping and taking to the air, she circled once to get the proper angle of attack, but also made no attempt to stifle the noise of her wings. Another twist against her core brought her sword into being in her hand, the massive thing seeming nearly as large as she was. As the four looked up to her position, finally tracking her, she dived in a falcon's stoop. The group of older people and one child hopped back in surprise and to gain a better defensive position, though the figure before them didn't seem to be attacking... yet.

With a crash and crack of shattered pavement, Ranma landed with her sword leading in a downward thrust. The aether-forged blade, reinforced with more of the same, easily sank into the pavement after her dive into the street some meters before them. Drawing herself back up from the kneel she'd fallen to in landing, Ranma flared her wings out with a furious snap, ripping her blade from the battered pavement. "Genma Saotome," she hissed, turning to regard the man fully, ice-blue eyes practically glowing. "For your actions at Jusenkyo, I demand answers!"

Genma's mind worked furiously. He had done a lot of things in his life he had come to regret. After rejoining his wife a little over a year before, there had been many long and cold nights where his sins had come to light, and been... explained to him, by Nodoka. The Kuonji girl's issue and claim had nearly destroyed his new life all over again, but by some stroke of luck, Nodoka's father had connections to the Kuonji clan, or at least some sway. The girl had dropped her vendetta after a call from her father, though she swore that some day there would be a reckoning.

It was a pattern that would repeat. It seemed that once he stopped his travels, all of Genma's actions caught up with him, and without Ranma as a buffer, the old man had to deal with the consequences himself. Nodoka had been as understanding as possible, but refused to let the 'sins of the father' come home to her unborn child. As she'd said, "I lost one child to your foolishness, and though I cannot forget it, I am working to forgive you. It will take time. But no more, Genma. No more. If I believe you're even thinking of sliding back into man that you became because of your Master's influence, you will rue the day you took my family name and stained it."

He had little choice but to believe her, as he was at the time, chained up and held upside down over a pit of spikes in the Saotome..._ training facilities_. Nearby his wife's family had stood with approving smiles at her declaration.

Truly, the life of a martial artist was fraught with peril.

But he was seriously beginning to wonder if karma planned on giving him a break sometime before he was dead, if it was sending vengeful angels at him now instead of spurned former fiancees for his departed son.

Genma's eyes darted about, and he internally winced at what he saw. There weren't a lot of witnesses, but there were enough. His own curse had been made common knowledge some time ago, and at the rate things were going, so would news that some divine messenger had come demanding his head. He was debating the chances of being able to grab his wife and run, when the same woman's hand fell on his shoulder. "...What do you mean?" Nodoka asked levelly, though the frisson of anxiety and old hurt were clear in her voice.

As the avenging angel stood fully, the others present and watching looking between the woman and the winged individual. Ranma took in her father's companion with cold eyes, missing the small connections people were making around them. Dispassionately she replied, "This doesn't concern you."

"As a Saotome, I assure you that it does," the woman stodgily responded, but flinched back slightly at angry tensing in the younger redhead's shoulders.

After a year of stewing and mulling over her abandonment, Ranma had little patience for other delays. Ignoring the woman's claim, figuring she'd assumed right that it was her father's sister, Ranma returned her glare to Genma. All her pretense at trying to be crafty in getting her answers was blown away, as anger and betrayal welled up bitterly in her heart. "A year. I waited that long for you to come back. But what does my coward of a father do? He runs away.

"Everything I remember about growing up with you, once I began to think about it, was you running away," Ranma venomously declared, missing the confused looks she was getting as her tirade continued. "Every time you stole food to stuff that gullet of yours while I went hungry, when you pushed me in the way of the people you cheated. Running away.

"Every time you refused to answer me on why you had to train me till I was broken and bleeding. Running away.

"Every deal you sold me in, before stealing me back in the night like the thief you are, more of you just being a coward and running away!"

The sound of wings snapping through the air was the only warning Genma received, before he was bent around the broad-side of a greatsword from a punishing backswing. Rolling with the impact, the larger man was shocked at how much strength the petite redhead could put into such a hit, but didn't linger on it. Tumbling into a defensive crouch, Genma looked to where the girl had been, frowning, "What, after all that noise_ you're_ running..." the bald martial artist noted where everyone was staring with wide eyes, and spared the sky a moment's attention before paling. "...away? Oh crap."

_ "Tempest Wave!"_

Ranma's lips peeled back in a feral grin, as her modified Shark Fist roared through the space between her and Genma. The five ki-infused dragons of air slammed into the ground where the rotund man had been with the force of an exploding bomb, scattering pavement and concrete around like so much shrapnel. She'd launched herself airborne after her initial attack, just so she could unbalance her father with a display of exotic Joketsuzoku ki techniques. It wouldn't do to give herself away just yet, with a full-contact unarmed battle, she mused, forgetting how her earlier statements gave her away in her rage.

While she was still hanging in midair, Genma made the attempt to take the fight to the redhead, only to lose the arm of his Gi as the winged menace started slashing with her blade meters away. The air pressure alone from her strikes were tearing cuts in his clothing and fending him off, much to Genma's concern.

Not yet content with her efforts, Ranma again dived, dismissing her blade. She was met by a not-quite-so-rattled Genma, as he regained his poise with a triumphant smirk. Falling for the ruse, Ranma had no other recourse, and dropped the flow of aether to her wings, dismissing them. Her dive altered drastically with the change in aerodynamics, but not enough to fool her father. Slipping under her extended kick, the older man grappled and spun them in the air, intent on using her fall to crash her bodily into the ground.

Ranma countered with a mid-spin breakout and grapple of her own, completely transferring all of the momentum from her dive and Genma's lunge into horizontal spin. Each of the airborne Saotomes were familiar with the tactic, though one was shocked to see it used against him.

Genma's surprise let Ranma have the first opening, as she caught him with a vicious axe-kick to the collar that nearly shattered bone. Unwilling to give up the aerial fight where his school excelled, the larger man snagged his foot under the girl's knee, twisting to bring his other leg into play. The impromptu leg-lock was unexpected, and all of Ranma's efforts to keep the upper hand were lost as both combatants slammed into the ground.

Along the improvised sidelines the eyes of Nodoka and Soun were intently tracking the fight. "She's... isn't that...?"

"The Saotome Ryū," Nodoka muttered in agreement to her husband's friend, brows knit in thought. "Definitely my husband's school. But... why would this girl know it?_ How_ could she?"

Snarling in anger, Ranma flipped backwards to get space and her feet back under her. As soon as she touched down, she let the crouch continue, till only a single finger was against the ground. "_Bakusai Tenketsu!_"

The ground beneath the girl exploded, though the surprise of those around was short lived as another shout was heard from the heart of the sudden mass of broken pavement and stone "_Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken!_"

Genma had to resort to the Umisenken's_ Yasha Tankai Hō_ to gather all the dart-like shards of rock and debris into his own Gi after shucking the garment off, spinning in place to bleed off their velocity. Once he'd weathered the storm, the now boulder-sized collection of scree was hurled at the petite redhead, followed by a pair of wide-sweeping arm strikes. Disdaining to announce his own attacks, Genma also didn't wait to see the results. He expected the_ Kijin Raishū Dan's_ compressed negative pressure blades to strike the bundle and send the collection of rock flying like a grenade, which would hopefully give him an opening to end the crazy fight. His opponent was knocked off her feet again, and slammed back-first into a building with a cry of pain. Having a moment to catch his breath, Genma smirked as he closed on the redhead, "Out of tricks already? And here I was starting to take you seriously!"

Ranma was getting seriously ticked off at the old man. Dragging herself out of the small crater she'd made, Ranma snarled inarticulately at the form from her vengeful dreams. Her intent shifted with her anger, and it showed as her wings snapped back into place, armor flaring to life across them and her body unbidden. White feathers lost their sheen, dimming, then tarnishing into an oily black as those nearby watched. The armor did not go untouched by the strange transformation, either. Vastly complex and fluted in places, the tooled silvery armor seemed more decorative than functional if of a vicious design. Though it had appeared clear and pristine when it manifested, it too soon tarnished and blackened, mirroring the anger and hatred coursing through the redhead that bore it.

Untouched was the blade that returned to Ranma's hand, and though it too seemed made to some unknown aesthetic, it certainly was not there just for show. Rage fueling her actions, Ranma spread her fingers wide on a hand that shimmered and grew clawed, as a circle of arcane symbols flared into life, contained themselves in a series of interlocked circles that began to spin in the air. Black wings curling forward and glowing balefully, the circle too flared, drawing power from them.

Realizing that goading an opponent like the one he faced may not be the smartest move, a few things slammed into Genma's mind that the fight had initially made him miss. The accusations at the beginning, the aerial prowess, the resemblance to Nodoka... "No. It can't be..."

Something in her father's eyes caused Ranma to snap out of her fugue, and with some shock she realized what it was she was aiming at the old man. Abruptly, the flow of power into the circles ceased. Distantly, she recalled a similar skill used during a siege to collapse a massive portion of reinforced stone and metal, and she flinched. Nothing for a block around her would have survived that kind of blast – likely not even herself, with how different her body was to the one from memory. She was getting better, but the equivalent of siege weapons were still far, far beyond her ability.

Through her wavering resolve, Genma saw another chance. Ranma saw her father's eyes go sharp with the realization that she was hesitating, and snapped out her hand again, a flare of aetheric power igniting there in a brief whorl that was much smaller than the one she'd nearly called on. Luckily, that power she'd summoned was already there, ready to shape. "_No more running!_"

She had practiced the very skill she called on for months, finally making the breakthrough that lead her to opening up other talents. All of it, just to keep Genma from doing what he did best. All of it, for this one day. She'd nearly lost herself to anger though, and found little satisfaction in seeing her efforts pay off.

It wasn't roots in the normal sense that burst from the ground to entangle Genma, who had barely twitched his muscles to begin what Ranma knew would be the Saotome Final Attack – Run Like Hell, but they resembled them superficially. Glowing faintly and apparently unbreakable if Genma's impotent struggles were any indicator, the seemingly magical lashes held him still. Ranma smiled in victory, before her expression fell into one of long-expected glee. "I've waited a year for this day. I will get my answers if I have to carve them out of your stinking panda hide, Pops!"

Slightly to the side, Nodoka started badly, her eyes going wide as a trembling hand made its way to her mouth. That was the final piece. It couldn't be... "R...Ranma?"

The avenging apparition paused, looking at the woman who spoke sharply. "Who are you, and what do you know about that name?"

Nodoka held her ground. "...Son?"

Her steps faltered, and the shock of that one word caused her focus to shatter. With it went the sword in her hand, the wings flaring angrily behind her, the shining armor that encased her, along with the bindings holding Genma in place. Face blank in her surprise, the redhead turned fully to the woman. "What..._ what_ did you just call me?"

Without the intimidating span of her wings or the threat of her sword in hand, the person before them became much less unreal and intimidating, and the family resemblance between the older and younger redheads was clear. So too, was her slight if buxom frame, giving her an air of youth she'd lacked before. Her apparent age aside, it was becoming clear to Ranma's stuttering and rapidly refocused mind, creeping in during that long expectant pause to whisper "she looks like I do, now," into the silence.

That silence was broken when Genma dashed forward instead of fleeing as Ranma had expected, wrapping the petite redhead in a crushing hug. "Ancestors! You're not dead! I thought... how? You fell and all I saw was red in the water!"

Her mind a blank at what was going on, which was far, far outside of her expectations, Ranma pulled her braid forward. It wasn't truly needed – her shock-red hair was very apparent, after all – but the motion brought Genma's focus to it. His amazed expression fractured slightly. "Not blood...? I see. Why... why didn't the Guide say anything? He knew every pool there, why would he...?"

Her mind still whirling in mild shock, Ranma didn't register the other woman clinging to her side and sobbing uncontrollably, or the rest of her father's words. "You... thought I was dead? Why'd you leave me there?" Ranma asked numbly, trying to find her anger and failing as she dragged her stuttering brain back into gear with some difficulty.

Genma looked away, shamefaced. "I... guilt. Despite all my discipline, you were right on some points. I am at heart... less than honorable. A coward." Shaking his head slowly, the older martial artist closed his eyes. "There aren't any other excuses. I was afraid, and could only see the terrible things my imagination let me see."

To say Ranma was stunned that the man she remembered would say such a thing was understatement. Added on to that was the woman at her side, still sobbing and muttering into her shoulder how she never wanted him to go on that damned trip and how he can't leave her again. Unsure what else to do, overwhelmed by what had happened, Ranma's resolve crumbled and a sensation of panic gripped her. This wasn't how things were supposed to go! She was here to get answers! Vengeance!

Pulling her arm free of the sobbing woman, Ranma backed away, a fearful light in her eyes. "I... I can't..."

Alarm was clear on Genma's face, as he watched the girl who was his son back away, fear clear in her eyes. "Son, just calm down-"

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" A burst of wind swept away from the unbalanced redhead, as she grimaced and clutched at her chest. Unbidden, her wings started forming at her back, only this time rather than flaring with a burst of light, they seemed to draw inward, building themselves from vortices of shadow. "You... weren't supposed to... and_ her_," the redhead pointed, as oil-slick, inky darkness swirled about the girl's form, building a defense around her out of reflex as her mind reeled. "My mother? I don't even remember having a mother!" Her scream faltering, Ranma backed further away, flinching away harshly as she saw the other two people who had accompanied her parents move toward her with upraised, calming hands. "S-Stay away!"

"You're obviously very upset," the long-haired man with the mustache soothed, stopping in his advance. "I don't know what's happened to you since your father left-"

"He left me there to die!" Ranma screeched, as the whorl of shadow-stuff about her snapped into place. Black and wicked of design, the darker incarnation of the girl's armor seemed half-intended for flaunting her full figure, as much as providing a very dual-edged defense. Spikes at the elbows and knees, with grand arching blades at her shoulders, and a back-mounted flaring skirt of oily-sheened metal that resembled bat's wings, the suit seemed a sinister counterpoint to its lighter opposite's design. Crowning her head, quite literally, was a black band of metal that expanded behind her head into an intricate patten, bearing massively curving horns that began behind Ranma's head, curving around and below her ears to end in sharp points, jutting forward before her face.

Complementing and completing her transformation, Ranma's wings were as wicked and daunting. Pitch and bearing a raven's sheen, the dark feathers seemed to exude a sensation of corruption and malice.

Clearly intimidated by the diabolic image, Genma backed away slowly as the slight figure's burning gaze turned his way. "I... I thought you were dead, son. I-"

Ranma had no interest in listening to the man, only snarling incoherently while swiping her hand at him. Instinct alone let the man mostly escape the cleaving force from her clawed and gauntleted hand, though he took a wide and bloody gash in his thigh regardless. Her distraction gone, Ranma sprang up into the air, beating her wings for a moment as she hovered nearby, before disappearing into the afternoon gloom.

–

"Yeah," Ranma muttered, around a half-eaten loaf of hard travel bread, "that didn't go how I wanted it to at all."

She still had trouble believing, after all the things she'd gone through in the time with the Joketsuzoku, that she'd lose her head like she had. Worse yet, she'd tapped into that part of her cursed form's skills that marked the last segment of that form's memories. The time she refused to think on, where everything changed for the worse.

"Kinda kidding myself though," she muttered to the darkened sky above. "Everything about this form's defined by those last years. The sword, the armor... half those skills." Heaving a sigh, Ranma choked down the mouthful of food she was eating, despite how it seemed to turn to ash in her mouth. Throwing the rest to the ground for the birds to scavenge, she stood from where she'd fled, the nighttime gloom heavy on the small park.

Before she'd taken five steps, her instincts flared and she leapt back, half blinded by the beam of light and heat that had seared the ground near where she'd recently stood. Dropping into a crouch, she extended her senses, but kept her ki wound tight. She'd burned a lot of her reserves on flying and Genma earlier, and honestly wasn't up to another fight, not that she expected that to matter. Polite opponents don't shoot first, then introduce themselves, after all.

As if her thoughts were some kind of trigger, her most recent foes stepped into the light of the park, causing the redhead to blink owlishly. The girls were young – younger than her – and as they struck dramatic poses, announcing themselves, Ranma stood staring in stark confusion.

"Parks are for romantic rendezvous and playing, not for demons to hide in! In the name of the moon, we will punish you!"

Ranma had to wonder if she'd imagined that attack earlier. These girls couldn't possibly be-

_'Move!'_

Ranma didn't question the imperative that blazed through her mind, only following its intent. Again, some kind of spell or ki attack blistered the ground where she'd recently been standing, this time with fire potent enough to glass the ground it struck. Tracking back the fiery bolt, Ranma's eyes met those of a very pretty dark-haired girl, who's predominant theme seemed to be red. Incredulity was burned away with that attack, as Ranma's mind engaged into combat mode with grim efficiency born from a year of war on the Musk, and over a century of Rashiel's memories of conflict. With a clinical detachment, she placed 'names' to faces and colors, since they so conveniently offered such a clear scheme to separate themselves.

As she dodged between clumsy, if shockingly powerful, attacks, Ranma built a reference base of sorts, matching the names she'd picked to skills. Red was obviously a fire user, while Blue seemed to favor water attacks. Green could hurl ball lightning, which was, Ranma knew, frankly strange considering the nature of electricity, but not nearly as surprising as Orange and her damn lasers and almost sentient chain-whip. Blondie – since the blue in her skirt was taken by the water-user – didn't seem to be as powerful with her energy attacks, but had some interesting and unpredictable moves as well. That trick where she flung her tiara like a chakram amused Ranma, till it split a boulder in half. Soon, she was predicting and outmaneuvering the skirted girls, much to their frustration.

"She's damn slippery!" Green announced, as Ranma skated around the younger girl effortlessly, dodging her amateurish attempts at Kempo. It was clear early on in the conflict she didn't need her wings, much less her sword for these opponents, instead being perfectly capable of outmaneuvering them with only her martial arts skill. This tactic was apparently an unknown to the girls, as none of them seemed very competent at hand-to-hand or close quarters combat.

Scooping up a handful of rocks, she started flicking them at the girls, smirking as they squawked and yelled in annoyance as the impacts disrupted their little spell casts. Anger was overriding their teamwork, as she continued her assault, moving into a central position between them. For an unknown foe, such a position would frankly suicidal, but Ranma felt she had the measure of these skirted magicians. Any time now...

"It's an ground attack! Quick, someone use a water skill!"

"Damn it Meatball Head, this isn't Pokemon!" Red raged at Blonde, while Blue, Green, and Orange simply stopped to boggle at the girl with oddly ornate hair buns. Though it amused her to no end that she'd caused a break in the fighting by enticing some kind of weird comment, this wasn't the effect Ranma had wanted. Smirking nastily, she decided to play along, if it would keep things moving how she wanted.

Pulling her hands up to her chin, Ranma affected a full-body shiver. "Oh, no! Please, anything but that!"

The effect was immediate, though still amusing. Blondie stuck her tongue out at Red in apparent triumph, while Blue charged up another of her attacks, noticeably more powerful than the previous. While she was doing so, Ranma flicked another pebble at Green, smirking as it clacked off her tiara, "Hey, Sparky! Gonna sit there and wait for your little friend to finish me off?"

"Why you- Ow!"

Ranma cackled as another pebble left a welt on the girl's forehead. A sidewards glance told her Blue was nearly done. "Yeah, because really, if I can dodge_ lightning_, what chance does she have? Care to take another shot, maybe this time you'll actually get close!"

Green snarled and whipped her hands up to her tiara, where that odd little lightning rod rose up again. Ranma would have laughed in glee had it not given her away. Rooting herself in mock horror, she stared at Green as she charged up a quick lightning strike.

Orange was yelling a warning, and Red seemed to just figure out what was going on, when there were twin calls from the two girls Ranma had been antagonizing.

"_Mercury Aqua Mirage!_"

"_Supreme Thunder!_"

Ranma dove forward, dropping to a roll and springing out of it to give her more distance as she cleared the intersection like a shot. Chancing a look behind her, she wasn't disappointed at the carnage her gambit had caused.

Green was locked into a feed cycle, as her lightning found a far-too enticing ground in Blue's water attack, which had struck the taller girl full in the chest. Blue came out far worse for wear, as the lightning sparked and arced off her body, which was seized up stiff as a board. After a timeless moment where Ranma began to think that Blue was likely going to simply explode from the massive amount of energy she'd conducted, Green's power finally cut off, leaving both to slump to the ground unconscious.

Clapping, her face set in a mocking smile, Ranma drew the remaining three skirt-wearing girls' attention back to herself. She'd had time if she truly wanted to almost literally walk around behind each of the remaining girls to disable them, but honestly didn't see them as that much of a threat. Still, her position was no longer central, just in case one of them had an ace to pull for their downed friends. "So, that was rather easy. Three left, huh? Well, step up, who's next?" She asked with light, playful grin.

"_Dead Scream._"

There was a moment, no more or less, between the transition from the mockingly smiling young woman they'd been fighting, to a figure from nightmare. The Senshi's opponent didn't so much as blink as she pulled a simply massive sword that seemed an artist's rendition of fire, feather, and leaf out of nowhere, to swat aside the coruscating ball of violet energy that bore down on her from the nearby darkness. Where she'd been dressed in a black top of Chinese cut and simple white silk pants before, the figure was now clad in matte black armor, that bore a frankly demonic cut and air, backed up by the massive raven's wings on her back, bearing their own wickedly bladed ornaments.

Ranma cursed soundly, the words grating on the ear as she unconsciously used a tongue from Rashiel's lifetime, rather than anything familiar to her own. "And who the fuck was that? Reinforcements?"

"Something like that," came the haughty response, as four more of the skirted girls appeared from the same direction the massively powerful attack had come.

Ranma casually reached out and back while keeping her eyes fixed on the new additions to the field, and caught the glowing tiara aimed at her blind spot, letting it spin out in her gauntleted hand before crushing it into a bent ruin. She ignored the odango haired girl's incredulous cry at her ruined jewelry. "Nice try, and good for you on not screaming out your attack first, but no prize for you, Blondie."

"My name isn't Blondie, it's Sailor Moon!"

Ranma blinked at that, sparing the girl an disbelieving look. "Really? Where's your boat?"

Blondie tugged at her hair in annoyance. "Arrrgh, not like that! We're the beautiful warriors dedicated to love and justice! The Sailor Senshi!"

Scanning the young women still standing, Ranma's brow furrowed. "So... it refers to the uniform, then? A serafuku? Wow. That's some team spirit you got there – I wouldn't be caught dead in that getup."

"Duly noted," the taller, dusky-skinned woman with the black motif replied, marking herself as both the one to speak earlier, and the one with the purple ball of death attack. "Now if you would be so kind as to stop dodging, we can let Moon purify you, and return home in time for bed, so we can get a good night's sleep. Some of these girls have school tomorrow."

Ranma couldn't help it – she_ liked_ this one. She had wit. "See, there's a small problem with that," the redhead noted, making a conscious effort to calm herself and let her ki and spirit become tranquil. The day's stress, her anger, the resentment at her denied vengeance all dimmed and dissolved under the chill of the Soul of Ice when she brought it to bear. With that change in her spirit, so too came the reversion of her armor and wings to their lighter state. "I kinda beat you to the punch."

A few incredulous stares answered her metamorphosis, though not all lost their abject aggression. "Oh, right, like we're supposed to believe you're not a demon just because you can change color?" Red snorted in a very unladylike fashion, charging her fire-bow again. "Get real."

"Yeah, if you're not evil, why'd you trick Jupiter and Mercury into frying each other like that?"

Ranma boggled at Orange for that, staring at the blonde with frank annoyance. "Hello! Who shot first and then introduced themselves while I was having a snack!"

"Yeah, probably some innocent's life-energy," the new blonde, who Ranma didn't bother to try to name since all her colors were already taken, sniped.

The idea left Ranma shuddering in revulsion however, which wasn't missed by the Senshi. "What? That's disgusting – and where'd you get that idea? I was having some travel bread, you trigger-happy nutcases!" Gesturing to the stomped and trampled remnants of her meal, the redhead snorted. "And I was meaning to feed the birds the rest when someone took a pot-shot at me!"

"Now she's admitting to poisoning innocent birds!" Blondie wailed, to which Ranma got fed up with the girl's stupidity and launched a pebble, smacking her in the middle of her forehead.

"Stop being dumb!" Ranma griped, eye twitching. This actually caused Red to snicker slightly, before she realized what she was doing and adopted a serious face again.

Oddly, it was the short girl in purple with the polearm that seemed to make the first sensible observation of the night. "She's not a negative being," the girl stated with some finality, causing the other three new players to look at her in surprise. "She's giving off energy, in fact."

Black, as Ranma had come to name the witty one, looked to the downed Blue with a sigh, before turning to Red with a raised brow. "Mars?"

Said dark-haired girl seemed to focus a moment, before her flames guttered out in her hands. "She's... oh that's just_ weird_."

"Hey!" Ranma snapped, "I'm standing right here, you know!"

"You're converting your ki into something else," Red explained, tilting her head in Ranma's direction quizzically. "What it is, I don't know, but it's not... well, like a Youma or anything else I've seen."

The new blonde apparently didn't like standing around and fired off her own opinion, "Doesn't matter. She's already taken out two of us, so that makes her a new enemy one way or another. So, why are we still talking?"

Ranma didn't really understand this little impasse she'd found herself in, so answered Red, feeling it wasn't all that important. After all – it wasn't like there were others like herself around. "It's aether. I don't know what else to think of it as, but that's what I call it," she explained, relaxing that engine within her, dampening the already taxing draw on her own life-energy. She hoped this ended soon, one way or another, as she was quickly reaching the limit of her reserves.

Rashiel's memory of what happened after, wasn't pretty.

To the new blonde, she leveled a droll glance. "_They_ attacked_ me_, or are you deaf as well as lacking any kind of fashion sense?"

"Why you-" A hand on the blonde's shoulder stopped her advance, and she looked back at a stoic Black with open confusion. "Pluto...?"

"If you don't mind me asking," the dusky-skinned woman inquired, meeting Ranma's eyes with inscrutable intensity, "could you tell me your name?"

Ranma cocked her head to the side, blinking owlishly. "Well, not like it matters," she replied. "I'm Ranma of the Joketsuzoku." The cursed youth watched the woman stumble slightly on nothing, as her nearly maroon eyes got huge. "Um..."

"Family name," the woman muttered, regaining herself while the other Senshi stared on in surprise. "What's your family name?" She demanded hoarsely, her voice carrying an edge that none of the others had even come close to matching.

Narrowing her eyes at the woman, Ranma crossed her arms across her chest, incidentally letting her blade shatter and disperse into flickering motes. "...my family are the Joketsuzoku."

There was a tense moment, as the black-skirted woman stared back into blue-silver eyes. Finally, she broke that silence, "Please."

Ranma blinked, before loosing a weary sigh. Like it would matter, she rationalized to herself. "My father's name is Saotome. Are you happ- hey, are you ok? Oh, c'mon, he didn't do anything to you too, did he?"

The reason for the winged woman's question was clear, as Pluto stood shakily, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. "You... this...Ranma,_ what happened?_"

–

Hikawa Shrine wasn't always the meeting place for the Senshi. It served its purpose well though, as their numbers grew and became too conspicuous for casual locations. The only problem was making sure that a certain nosy grandfather didn't walk in on a sensitive moment, but Rei managed to divert him well enough. Not that their most recent guest would know this.

Still, Ranma had to wonder why they were all gathered in what appeared to be the sitting room of a young woman, judging by all the accents and oddities strewn about. The shoujo manga stuffed into odd nooks and crannies, uncommon but not unknown to Ranma, only added to that impression. "Apparently," Ranma observed to herself, "the Senshi didn't have s secret base." Feeling rather out of her element, Ranma couldn't quite stifle the nervousness in her voice, "So. Um... what did you want to know?"

"For one, why'd you come with us so easily?" the new blonde, who identified herself as Sailor Uranus, asked querulously before anyone else could speak. "Is this some kind of trap you're staging?"

If it had been a single, isolated comment, Ranma wouldn't have let her temper flare. No, it was something like the twelfth, if the martial artist recalled correctly, since the woman who called herself Pluto had declared her a non-threat and asked that they speak in private and at length. Fed up with the woman and much more comfortable with anger than anxiety, Ranma leveled a scalding glare her way. "Look, I don't care who or what you are, but drop the paranoia. If I wanted to take you all out, I could have done it easy already."

The woman sniffed disdainfully, while a few of the others started looking uncomfortable. "Right, tell me another one."

She'd been cycling her ki since the one called Pluto talked the others down, and was now, if not fully recharged, at least easily able to take one of these so-called Sailor Senshi on. Ranma narrowed her eyes and stood, causing a ripple of movement among the already-wary Senshi. "Want a practical demonstration, windbag?"

"What did you just call me?"

Ranma smirked while the other Senshi drew away, as Mars started looking somewhat panicked. "Windbag. You know, someone who's all talk, and no action. So far, I think it fits you to a 'T'."

Uranus practically shook with rage. "Why you..."

"Uranus!" Pluto barked, startling the blonde out of her anger. "Sit down, and be quiet." Turning her disquieting gaze back to the now-normal looking Ranma, the glare lessened, but only slightly. "And please, Ranma... don't antagonize her."

"Tell that to the tomboy," Ranma groused, getting a dire glare for her comment. In return she blew the fuming blonde a raspberry.

Pluto let her face fall into her hands with a sigh. Muffled, her voice was still clear. "Well, at least some things didn't change..."

That got Ranma's attention rather easily. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that you're not even supposed to be like this, much less in Juuban," Pluto explained curtly, leaning back with a worried expression. "You were supposed to get your curse, and end up in Nerima with your father almost a year ago," she explained, causing the redhead's eyes to grow wide. She ignored Ranma's reaction, continuing her tired tirade, "Incidentally, it wasn't supposed to be a curse that involved wings and armor and mood-influenced levels of malevolence."

Ranma was about to open her mouth to ask what and how this woman knew what she did, when Red – Mars – yawned while putting her tea down, incidentally causing the cup to tip, spilling it on the nearest person to her.

Eye twitching below his now black bangs, a very male Ranma sighed at the stain that was spreading through the silk of his white pants. "...and I just got those too."

"What-who-how," Mars babbled, eyes widening till white shone around her irises clearly.

Glancing around the table, Ranma noted similar reactions in most of those present, excluding Pluto, which caused him to narrow his eyes. "You knew I'd get cursed. You knew my Pops and me would go back to Nerima. How? What've you got to do with all this?"

"Do? Nothing. I simply observed. What I_ thought_ I knew," the woman corrected, heaving a sigh, "goes like this. A little more than a year ago, Ranma and Genma Saotome would have gotten their curses – Ranma into being female, Genma into being a panda – and then traveled to the village of Joketsuzoku in the wilds of China. There, you would have eaten the prize for the yearly challenge, earning you the ire of a certain girl named Shampoo. Since you were female when you bested her-"

"She gave me the Kiss?" Ranma paled, imagining how his life would have gone, with his sword-sister sworn to kill him. Sure, they ended things rocky recently, but he knew Shampoo's honor. She would have tracked him to hell itself, for her pride and honor as a Joketsuzoku warrior. If he was honest with himself, Ranma wanted to go back some day, but knew he needed more time. Time to think on what it was that Cologne wanted of him, and if he could be that person. Hopefully the Joketsuzoku Matriarch wouldn't do anything rash... but Ranma really couldn't say one way or another if her ambitions were stronger than her bonds of loyalty to a friend and ally. His rocky reintroduction to the Saotomes – including his mother! – only complicated things.

Pluto nodded, a wry smile bending her lips. "Both of them, actually," she commented, causing the cursed boy before her to nearly fall out of his chair. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. You would return to Nerima, to learn Genma had made an arrangement with Soun Tendo-"

"...to marry one of his daughters," Ranma interrupted again, nodding impatiently. "Yeah, I found that much in my old man's things, after he left me for dead in the Spring of Drowned Girl."

The emerald-haired woman winced, as a few of the Senshi shared surprised looks at that facet of the story unfolding before them. "Well, sufficed to say, it was a... bumpy engagement."

Ranma snorted. "I can imagine, considering he used to sell me off on a whim, while we were on the road. Bet that finally caught up with us." Seeing the woman's surprise at his words, Ranma snorted. "So I didn't remember?"

"No... how do you, now?"

"The Joketsuzoku," Ranma explained simply, reaching up to rub at the scar above his hairline in a thoughtful gesture. "After they took me in, my memories were a mess. Not to mention, my views on some things. After a year among an entire village where everyone that matters is female, I kinda got over Pop's chauvinistic ways." Leaning back, the pigtailed youth got a distant look in his eye. "Had a lot of reason to keep my memories clear. Anyway," Ranma dismissed, folding his hands below his chin in a peak. "What next?"

Pluto spared him a hooded gaze. "Many things. Things I won't explain... except to say that a little over two years later, you were supposed to arrive here, and meet the Senshi."

"They as trigger-happy then, as now?"

"Hey!"  
"I said I was sorry."

"Someone can really hold a grudge."

Ranma ignored the various mutters, in favor of watching Pluto, as she explained things. "It doesn't matter," she finally stated, frowning severely. "Things have already changed far too much."

Shrugging, the martial artist noted the woman's discomfort, but didn't understand it. "So? I got here early. What's the big deal?"

"It means the Gates were wrong," Pluto pointed out, which made no sense to Ranma, but judging by the sudden near-panic in the room from the others, apparently meant this was a very bad thing. "You were supposed to encounter the Senshi, and end up training them to be better fighters, after facing the things that went on while living in Nerima."

Standing, the tall woman began to pace. "That training became critical, when things escalated for the Senshi at that time." A light blush colored the woman's features, as she looked away hurriedly. "This... something went terribly wrong.

"And I don't understand how," she concluded in a fierce hiss, startling those near her.

Ranma swallowed, having clearly understood a few things from how the woman was speaking, and what she said. Clearly, the woman had something that let her see possible futures, or was a diviner of sorts, neither of which were concepts totally unknown to Ranma. He'd heard tales of a lost artifact of Cologne's that did something similar, and there were Musk oracles that were frighteningly accurate. "When... when did you last check on this future?"

Pluto regarded him evenly. "Yesterday."

–

It would have seemed like an almost romantic setting, if one didn't know who the two people walking slowly side by side were, or what had just been discussed. The Shrine's grounds were well-kept, clean and level, with blossoming trees swaying in a gentle wind. Above, since night had fallen some hours ago, the half-moon shone down, faintly illuminating the pair.

Ranma took this in, as he walked slowly with his hands folded behind him. "So, this other me was something important, wasn't he?"

The emerald-haired woman nodded, her silence unbroken for a long minute. "He was... important to a number of dreams."

Ranma understood, but didn't want to bring attention to the subtext the dusky-skinned woman was clearly implying quite yet. "And now it's all ruined."

Heaving an uncharacteristic sigh, the typically stoic Senshi of Pluto turned to regard the black-haired youth before her. "You were noble. Unerringly noble, even if it was a rogue's code. The things you held highest were honor and the protection of those that needed it." Smiling a slow smile, the woman laughed, slow and quiet. "You weren't perfect. Not at all, and sometimes you made things worse, for your efforts... but you always finished what you started. You were the knight in shining armor, but it was so rough and unpolished. It was like watching a man who had built himself up to being a king, all by his own blood, sweat, and tears... but rather than being some idealized figment, he was still human."

The martial artist blinked once, somewhat taken aback by the warmth in the woman's voice. "You loved him."

"I loved him," the woman agreed, drawing in a slow breath. "But I couldn't touch him. His heart belonged to another."

Ranma frowned taking a few more steps into the darkness. Pluto, still in her Senshi form, moved with him. "Going to guess it was one of those daughters of Tendo's."

"Actually, no," the emerald-haired woman admitted, laughing bitterly. "Though you did marry her – that daughter I mean – your heart... it was duty and honor that drove you to marry. You were steadfast and did what you felt was right, but it wasn't love in that way you felt for her.

"Your heart belonged to your childhood friend Ukyo," she explained, getting a stunned look from the cursed young man. Seeing his expression, she tilted her head. "What is it?"

Swallowing thickly, a number of things played through the martial artist's mind, first and foremost, though, he voiced, "But Ukyo's a guy!" Pupils narrowing to pinpricks despite the deep shadows offered by the night, Ranma paced nervously in a small circle. "Oh man, does this mean my curse got locked? Or... maybe I go..." staring hollowly, he shivered from head to toe.

"Ranma," the Senshi chided, shaking her head slowly. "Ukyo is a girl. And no, she's not cursed – she's always been a girl."

His legs giving out at that last shock, Ranma sat hard on the cool ground, unmoving for a long moment. Finally letting gravity take over, let he let himself fall backwards, staring up at the sky's faint haze, and the half moon that lit it from behind. "Man... maybe I should stop asking questions."

Kneeling nearby, Pluto's Guardian nodded with a distant air about her. "Perhaps so. It has been a long day of revelations, after all."

Turning his head to regard the woman nearby, Ranma had to admit in that maelstrom moment where his defenses were down... she was rather pretty. Her features were clean and sharp, foreign he realized with a slow blink. There was more than that, however, that pulled at his attention. Ranma listened to that new sense that had come with his curse, as he had so many other times, in dealing with people he wanted to gain a better understanding of. It wasn't familiar from his memories of Rashiel, but similar to how she dealt with aether, in her home. Doing so with ki just came naturally, as his body was different in fundamental ways, even while he was in his cursed form. His senses, tuned to the movement of life, scented at the woman's aura. As if sensing his probing inspection of her, the woman turned to regard him, meeting his eyes directly.

Ranma inhaled slowly, the depth of loneliness and distance there hitting him like a nearly physical thing. Recalling all the things she'd said about this other 'Ranma', that she'd come to admire and love, he looked away. It felt so strange being shamed by a memory of_ himself_.

"I'm... I guess I'm not like that Ranma," he muttered up at the sky. "I'm not as noble as that. I mean, for the last year, I've been doing nothing but training for the day when I'd find Pops, and beat the truth out of him over why he left me.

"Not much noble about that," the cursed teen admitted with a shuddering sigh. "I've fought, killed... hell, I've leveled entire villages, in that stupid border war between the Joketsuzoku and the Musk." Closing his eyes against the memories, Ranma shook his head slowly. "I don't even know where my honor stands, anymore. I call myself Joketsuzoku, but... I can't be that either. I can't bring myself to bend to their laws, despite a year among them. What Pops taught me's been getting fainter, since he left me, but he always went on about not abusing that power, and not abusing the Art. I've done both. A lot."

Kipping up to his feet suddenly, Ranma shook his head hard. "I came here for vengeance, and then when I was faced with my Pops and the mother I didn't even remember, I freaked the hell out and ran away. I never even thought beyond that moment." Staring down at the woman who was still kneeling nearby, Ranma smiled sadly. "I'm... sorry I'm not him."

Not knowing what to say – what she could say, to that – the Senshi of Pluto simply looked back to her clenched hands, tucked in her lap.

"Look. I'm obviously... causing a problem," Ranma gritted out, so unused to being in such a swell of emotions that had come up recently. "So, I'll just say I'm sorry for spooking everyone, and that you'll probably not see me around," he concluded, moving with new determination for the Shrine's gateway.

The Pluto woman, he easily admitted, seemed like an awesome planner, with a powerful tool to help her. Capable, and with clear goals. She would find someone else to train the other Senshi, someone that probably fit in with their ideas better than a blooded Joketsuzoku warrior, whose life had been turned into a broken vow for vengeance. Somehow, he just didn't see himself being what they needed, or would need as the case was, with the Senshi's declaration to be 'soldiers of love and justice'.

"The future I worked for," the woman stated suddenly, breaking Ranma's stride and thoughts like a soap bubble. He turned, noting her voice had gone dead and lacking inflection, "that future was a nightmare. It was... the world covered in ice. Dead. There was no summer, but magic meant that the one city that remained, prospered.

"My Queen had hoped to purify the world," she went on, as a slowly horrified Ranma listened. "She was young and... foolish. She though that by purifying the world of evil, it would let people live in harmony. In a way, she was right. She tried. It worked. But human nature is not a simple thing, that can be sieved like sand, to find pebbles and separate silt. Nor is nature.

"And we must always,_ always_ remember that good and evil are such subjective things," she concluded, reaching up to flick away an errant tear. "She grew from that mistake into a good ruler almost overnight. She lost her innocence. It made things easier, later, when what had to be done was again terrible. She'd already damned humanity, what was one more blow? She was broken when Earth all but died, but rather than drown in sorrow, she promised to make it right. And she did. But it took so much time."

Through her words, Ranma realized he was walking back to the woman, to kneel before her, as she had knelt before him recently. "You didn't stop this nightmare?"

Pluto laughed, though she made no sound. Regardless, her frame shook slightly. "I_ couldn't_. For all my power, that... that_ ruin_ was the best chance, the only chance I could see." Taking a handful of deep, gasping breaths, the skirted woman's expression cleared, her face calming after minutes of dwelling in her own self-hate. "I wanted to. Oh how I wanted to... do you have any idea how it feels, to know that you were planning the death of billions?"

"My Queen, my first Queen, charged me with protecting her legacy, humanity, and the future. I spent hundreds of years frantically planning, working, skulking from the shadows and shaping the best course for humanity. I gifted the brilliant, I slew the terrible, stood by and let the righteous fall, and turned my back as tyrants rose," she whispered, voice hoarse and thick, while large, unbidden tears marched down her cheeks. "All for the chance at a bright future. Then, it all turned to ice. All I could see, was ice."

Suddenly, Ranma's worries on how he'd let the Art and the code his father had tried to beat into him become dirtied, seemed far, far less damning. Hesitantly, haltingly, he reached out and settled a hand on the shaking woman's shoulder. "What was the alternative?" he asked quietly, before continuing before the woman could answer. "You already said that was the best you could manage. The only thing. It was a terrible choice to make, to put on one person. I can't imagine being... anything after doing something like that," he admitted, trying and failing to think of what a decision like that would do to him.

Pluto sobbed once, a choked and despairing sound. "I've worked so hard. Given so much, and after it all, I know I'll just... feel like more of a monster than anything we've faced. Maybe I save the future, but the cost," shaking her head hard, the woman shuddered again, having never spoken these things to anyone, feeling bare and vulnerable. Had the man before her been anyone else, she'd have never risked such a moment, but this was_ Ranma_. Even if it wasn't her Ranma – Setsuna laughed bitterly at that thought – it was still, on some level, the same caring, noble man. "I'll sacrifice my soul for that future, I will every time. But I don't have to like it. Don't have to be at peace with that idea."

"Then you're not a monster," Ranma declared sternly, shocking Pluto into raising her eyes to meet his own. "A monster wouldn't worry about those things. Wouldn't feel remorse, of regret," he explained, having clear memories of things that very clearly_ were_ monsters. Putting aside his own anxiety at human contact, Ranma sat near the sobbing woman and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her lightly.

As she calmed, Ranma let his mind bend to the problem presented. Honestly, he had no reason to help these so-called Senshi, no tie to them. He would be perfectly justified to walk away and never look back, after the attack earlier, but something about their determination, their innocence and hope called to him. It reminded him of how he'd been, before the curse, and the memories, and the war and killing. Looking at the woman breathing slowly, nearly dozing in his arms, he saw something else. Pluto, as she'd named herself, was not like the others. He had no illusions on who had lived longer, by her words, but felt there was something of a rapport there regardless. Rashiel's memories, the decades of constant bloodshed and loss, let him understand the woman better, and what it was the she strained under.

"Those Gates," he murmured quietly, feeling Pluto tense slightly as she came to attention from her near-sleeping state. "The ones that were wrong. They are what you see this future in? How you plan it?" Pluto nodded against his shoulder, and Ranma again felt a frisson of discomfort at the degree of physical contact, but stifled his impulse to pull away.

Before he had spoken, Pluto swallowed thickly, trying hard not to think about the warmth under her hands, and cheek. How so much of her recent days had been spent in bitter anticipation of soon finding Ranma, only to be unable to draw close to him. Now, it would have been only a year distant... No. She couldn't think of that now. Right now was_ this_,_ here_, with someone who was and yet was not the Ranma she knew. A Ranma, it was becoming startling clear to her, that was drastically changed, true, but bore fewer entanglements, while remaining the same fundamental person.

Perhaps his hands were bloodied, but could the Senshi claim else? She didn't speak on it, but Youma weren't simple, mindless, automatons. They too bore souls and destinies, hopes, and dreams. They ran counter to the Senshi's own, true, and their methods could not be tolerated, but the facts remained clear, if one had the perspective to see it.

They were warriors. They fought their enemies mercilessly, protected those that needed it, and killed their foes when necessary. How then, could she pretend to judge? Not, Setsuna realized, that she was. She nearly laughed at her own rationalizations, knowing well enough they weren't just for herself. Rather than focus on this very welcome opportunity, she instead centered her attentions on Ranma's question, mulling it over carefully. Her conclusions were not pleasant, or welcome. "If they have been wrong all this time, then everything I've done..."

"Shh," Ranma hushed, wincing at his fumble. "Let me try again. Maybe you just need a new perspective on things. Different eyes."

Deep red eyes met nearly luminous blue, blinking in confusion. "You're... offering? Why? After hearing about the future I'm trying to bring about?"

Looking away nervously, Ranma hoped the twilight hid his blush well. "For all my honor and code aren't in the best shape, I can't just sit by for something like this," he admitted. "Maybe I can help, so things change and you don't have to be that person. Maybe I can't, and it won't matter, but... I won't know till I try." Seeing the woman's expression fall somewhat, Ranma internally flinched.

Letting down the barriers around him that he'd built up, hardening his heart for that day he'd take his vengeance on his father, his expression softened. "Look... I ain't that Ranma. But I am Ranma. I don't know what he thought of you, and don't care. I..." taking a breath, the martial artist laughed quietly. "You know, sitting her with you is the most conversation I've had since China?" Seeing Pluto blink in the moonlight at his sudden shift in direction, he went on, "Maybe I won't be able to help like you want, but I can see clear as day you want it. And, that you didn't want to ask.

"You ain't trying to manipulate me like Pops did, with his insults and going on about honor or anything. You don't see me like a weapon or bargaining chip, like granny," he explained. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'd like to help you. If you'll have me."

"Me," the woman hazarded, clamping down on the hope that gripped her heart like burning iron bands. "Not us, the Senshi. You want to help me."

Feeling a shiver work up his spine from the ground to the base of his skull, Ranma nodded. It wasn't from fear, or anxiety.

–

"You want me to_ what_?"

Despite the fact that Ranma had effectively beaten two of their number handily, Setsuna had little trouble convincing the Senshi that the cursed young man was a potential ally. Perhaps it was that fact that drove the point home, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth – pun irregardless.

Haruka was going to cause problems, she knew, at least until she and Ranma sparred seriously, after which the two would bond in a strangely eerie kind of pseudo-male camaraderie that left most everyone befuddled and blinking in confusion. At least, she hoped it still went that way, as otherwise the short-tempered Senshi of Uranus was going to cause serious friction in how the Senshi interacted in time around Ranma.

"You can't be serious – why me?"

There were other things that needed to be considered, however, and they required her attention soon. Number one on the list was getting Ranma a place to stay, as the currently-male martial artist didn't have a home to return to, according to his account on meeting the Saotomes and Tendos. She'd offer to take him to the home she shared with the Outers, but there was of course the unresolved issue with Haruka, which she hoped in time would work itself out. Even after the fact, however, Setsuna was wary. The blonde Senshi would not hesitate to drag Ranma into her and Michiru's sex life, using the curse an excuse, just to spice things up with a 'differently equipped girl'.

Setsuna's eye twitched at that particular memory of a potential future event. It sometimes amazed her the things Haruka would rationalize to herself, in the name of pursuing more interesting bedroom games. Ranma of course wouldn't have come within thirty feet of the blonde's bedroom after her overt teasing, but then again,_ this_ Ranma wasn't traumatized by years of hamfisted competition from a handful of obsessed fiancees and hopeful future wives. Or husbands, in the case of a few of the other Ranma's entanglements.

"Why not Makoto? She has room! I mean he... she?... argh!"

There was also her own temptation to think about. Setsuna honestly didn't trust herself at this point, with things so neatly falling into her lap as they had. It would be so easy to open herself up to Ranma, and just sit and talk for hours... and then she'd likely be trying to drag the cursed man off herself. No, she had things she really needed to do, and the distraction of an available and apparently receptive Ranma would not help her see them done. She shouldn't even be agonizing over this, but some concessions had to be made. An anxious, fretting, borderline-breakdown Guardian of Time was not the image she needed to portray to her allies and sisters-in-arms. Not when she had very serious work to do, that could take a very long time.

The Gates had been wrong. Not just wrong, but outright deceptive. It worried her much more than she let show, but there weren't many things in her long existence that could cause such an event... and none of them were good. Or even likely. However, she had to consider them, and with Ranma in the equation, chaos – the normal, non-capital 'C' type – was soon to follow.

"I mean what about your place? You seem to get along with him!"

Which all added up to her trying to talk Rei into letting Ranma stay at the Shrine for the near future. "You saw how he and Haruka got along – or rather didn't. No, that won't do."

Rei huffed and crossed her arms before her. "Why can't he just get an apartment then?"

"Because I asked him to stay and help us," Setsuna pointed out calmly, despite her inner voice continuing to banter on about things. "It wouldn't be fair to hold him here when he had no reason to stay, and then not help at all."

Grudgingly, the shrine maiden had to agree with that logic. "I suppose we are the only ones that could put him up, without it becoming something of a debacle, aren't we?"

"Minako... is Minako," Setsuna agreed, before counting off points on her fingers. "Mamoru is out, as he'd not in the country currently for college. Usagi's home is quite full already, and frankly, Ranma is too unsubtle to send to her. Ami's mother would never agree, and though yes, Makoto would be a good choice, both she and Ami are not ideal choices for... other reasons."

"Would that include getting their asses handed to them by Ranma?"

"His personality is somewhat grating," the other Senshi agreed, stifling the urge to sigh. "Though I doubt he'd be so confrontational to Ami, as she's typically tried to be a non-combatant, Makoto is fare game. And frankly, she'd lose the apartment to damages, or a loss of insurance in no more than a week."

Rei whistled lowly. "That bad?"

Setsuna nodded, a wry expression on her face as she looked out toward the temple grounds. "He will see it as a kind of training. Egging her on to make her try harder, move faster, thinking craftier, just to match and keep up with him. It was how he was trained, after all, and we learn from our teachers. Sadly, she won't see this – only the insults and barbs."

"He can't really be that insensitive, can he?"

"Rei, he was raised by a man who tortured him, sold him, used him as a bartering commodity, then finally abandoned him, thinking him dead." Seeing the young woman wince, the Senshi of Pluto continued relentlessly, "This was all during a decade-long training journey where he was forced to abandon his mother and his few friends who would later come to consider him an enemy, not that he knows this yet.

"He was then forced to adjust to a society that was completely counter to his upbringing, without knowing the language, locked in an alien form that the leaders there used as a tool to destroy and demoralize their foes. A society that any civilized culture would consider barbaric and backwater, lost to modern times." Leaning forward, the emerald-haired woman pinned Rei with an intense gaze. "Ranma's strength does not lie in the social arts. However, this is not his fault."

Blinking a the other woman's intensity, Rei nodded. "R-Right. I'll go set up a room."

"Thank you."

—

AN: I don't know what this thing I have about Ranma with wings is. Eh, whatever. Also, why can't I escape SM crossovers? Why? Argh.


	4. Chapter 4

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

—

Premise: Onmyōdō Ranma stumbles onto the gates of the underworld, and instead goes to Naruto Hell, and finds a ninja-maid. He then takes up farming. Yeah. Just read the damn thing.

—

**_A Dragon Abroad_**

Despite being early afternoon, the long train ride that took him to the other side of Japan left Ranma feeling drained and bit off-center. Normally he'd treat such a trip as an exercise in endurance and a good excuse to get in some remedial cross-country work, but at the moment that luxury was denied him. Long bouts of being immobile were tiring, to someone who's life was spent constantly in conflict and motion. "Makes me wonder why I took this job," the martial artist complained, stretching his arms above him, which earned him a round of cracks as his back and shoulders loosened.

"So, this is Yasugi-shi," the cursed figure noted, taking in the difference in architecture, the sparsity of buildings, and the cleaner air with slightly higher spirits as the last few kilometers of his trip sped by. Compared to Tokyo and its ward, Nerima, this place reminded him of the better times on the road with his father, when it was just him, Genma, the art, and the stars above that made anyplace home. Despite having spent nearly three years living in the Tendo home alongside his father and reluctant fiancée Akane, he'd never quite felt the same kind of ease that such places brought. Having spent most of his childhood on the road, he felt it made a reasonable amount of sense. He was looking forward to getting out and getting his shoes dirty with some road dust and grass stains on his pants once more.

Then again, maybe he was just a bit opinionated. Most of his troubles happened to lie in Nerima, and he had grown more than a little weary of putting up with the arguably brilliant training tactics of his father. That keystone snippet of knowledge had come during one of the older man's drinking binges, when he offhandedly mentioned his training journal, and how to make Ranma the best of the best, he'd needed some extraordinary methods. After all, one couldn't train on the road, challenging themselves, nature, and the wisdom of distant masters while settled down in a dojo. No, that would require techniques to come to them, to find Ranma, rather than the other way around. Finding his father's journal had been a real chore, but well worth it. The panda-cursed man had been brilliant in his scheme, using the greatest vices known to man to motivate people that would become lifetime rivals and counters for his son, constantly testing him, constantly being analyzed for their techniques, and then overcome by the brilliant machine for the art he'd crafted in Ranma. Genma had been quite proud of his plot, and, after putting his old man in traction for a month, Ranma had to agree – it was a stroke of genius.

Mad genius, but genius.

As things stood, there really wasn't anything he could do to end the madness his life had become, and if he were to be honest about it, Ranma didn't want to. Sure, the fiancée mess was just that – a mess of unpleasant emotions, tangled webs of honor, duty, and pride. Despite it, his ego wouldn't let him just push the women in his life aside. It was nice being wanted, and he'd become accustomed to that, even if he wasn't sure where he wanted to go with it.

Aware of the game, he'd confronted Genma about it, and they'd had a good old fashioned Saotome brainstorming session, to work things out. Hence, his father's stay in the hospital. Both men always thought better while beating the life out of one another. It was tradition.

The result was the current holding pattern, that Ranma was now actively putting things into. A few dropped words about his female form and some fantasies about a little girl's love to Xian Pu while under the influence of some truth spices, some allusions to considering a franchise of small-scale dojo's to teach young kids basic self defense while offering refreshments to Ukyo, and a redoubled effort to work on his education at Furinkan for the Tendos had things changed just enough to keep everyone off center, but moving in the right direction.

Of course, the truth spices had been avoided, but he knew about the Joketsuzoku's plot thanks to a loose-lipped Mu Tse, who had confronted 'Ku Lon' in a rage for helping the 'enemy of women and Cassanova' Saotome. That he'd used a white wig and a convenient lawn gnome to trick the myopic idiot was just icing on the cake. His choice in using Xian Pu for a possible girl-side match was strategic, in an effort to thwart any more of the Joketsuzoku Elder Ku Lon's tricks in fouling with the Saotome's curses. If the old woman thought that he'd grown accustomed to the curse, and thought of it more an option, Ranma hoped she'd back off the scheming. Plus, watching the other fiancées go into shock seeing his girl-type and Xian Pu kissing a few times was just too much fun to pass up.

He did like the idea of a little teaching while on the road, something his father wasn't wholly against as long as it wasn't the Saotome Musabetsu-kakutō-ryū itself. A little kempo? Sure. Some soft-form tàijíquán? Not a problem. Just nothing that could be tied to the family art directly, since that was to be kept in the school, and the nature of the 'fast food' dojo wasn't the kind of environment one could nurture their particular brand of art in. That was something he'd need long-term students for, and more time learning how to teach, himself. Probably to his own heir first, Genma admitted. He'd considered such an option as well, but knew that Ranma was a better conduit for the art in a less... traumatizing form. Genma would be there, when he wanted advice, but as a primary trainer? Not so much.

The refocusing on his education was a no-brainer, so to speak. It wasn't as if he never studied while on the road, and he had been enrolled in schools for periods of time while in Japan. Most of his pack, before the swim to China at any rate, had been text books Genma had acquired for him to study from. Not having the most standardized education himself, however, the elder Saotome had missed a few key subjects and points. So began his development of the Musabetsu-kakutō-ryū: College Exam Cram branch of the Saotome school.

He was still ironing out the kinks in that one. Interdisciplinary hybridization of the art was never something to approach lightly, and if he could perfect it, well – the possible rewards and profit for teaching that could be astounding. Even Genma agreed there. Still, his feverish cramming was not an unexpected situation. It had been the norm around tests and exams while growing up and mirrored his martial style when put in a critical situation. This incarnation also had multiple purposes.

One, it fulfilled its obvious goal, in getting Ranma into a good college. Dojo instructors were expected to have certifications these days, not just be really awesome at cracking skulls. That he had top honors in already. Reference Jusendo.

The second purpose was pleasing his mother, which kept his head and Genma's firmly attached and functioning. Always a plus, in the Saotome's books. Nodoka had always been a bit worried about his education, based on how rough around the edges he was, but that was mostly due to the Saotome school's tendency to taunt their opponent, and his life on the road. Both were things he was learning to ease up on, now that he'd been spending years amid civilization proper again.

Lastly, it gave the Tendos a solid example of Ranma taking the engagement and his duty to the dojo seriously, as a respectable and accomplished young man with his eye to the future, not just the next technique in the art.

Not that, as shocking as Ranma found it, Genma actually expected his son to marry a Tendo. He shouldn't have been surprised, after speaking with the older man for a while, and figuring out his particular idiosyncrasies. After all, who teaches about honor and duty while openly being a thieving, gluttonous, lazy jerk? Who expects their views on marriage and familial obligation to stick, when they've been put into multiple engagements, have a seppuku contract looming over them, and haven't seen their mother for over a decade?

Genma, as he himself had admitted with some pride from his hospital bed, had been teaching his son by the inverse example principle. And it had worked, in just about every way he'd expected. Almost. The last part of the plan had been spoiled, as Ranma had found out about it all too soon. When the pig-tailed martial artist had inquired about that, Genma had just shaken his head and said, "When it's time, you'll know. Then your training will truly be complete."

Ranma just figured his old man had been watching too many Lucas films. That one stank of some kind of Jedi nonsense.

"Still, it's nice to have the old man on my side, for a change," the gender-cursed martial artist mused as he disembarked from the train amid a small group of other passengers. The Yasugi station she'd arrived at wasn't very large or as heavily trafficked as those he was more familiar with from recent memory, but had a quiet charm of its own. "So far it seems like Shimane is a pretty nice piece of countryside."

Pack of supplies hung over one shoulder, Ranma oriented himself to the highway marked "45" heading southwest, and started on his way.

–

"Wish I'd brought a camera now," Ranma quietly noted after some thirty kilometers of walking the next morning, having camped sometime around nightfall to enjoy the quiet peace and keep his reserves ready for the day ahead. He was currently walking to the west of highway 314 in the shallow valley it followed, just beyond the Izumo-Sakane bus stop and the stop for Miinohara. To the east he could see a long bridge spanning a sharper valley, the red of its weathered iron contrasting strongly with the rich foliage that covered so much of the land. His current destination loomed to the southwest still, easily visible at five kilometers as it rose in a low-slung, brooding profile. "And there's Hiba-_yama_."

Ranma suppressed a pointless shudder at the sight, snorting afterward. "Not afraid of some stupid mountain. Blown up two already – so keep that in mind," he called out, ducking as he realized the few other travelers nearby were giving him strange looks.

"Right. I'll just be going," he muttered, hopping off the highway's route to make a more direct path. Still, he couldn't quite shake a steadily rising sense of foreboding. The more he noted it, however, the more it irritated the martial artist. "Seriously, it's just a myth."

It just happened to be a myth about the path to the Yomi world – what passed for an underworld in Shinto – and the death of a kami. It was well known to those with even a passing familiarity in Shinto the fate of Izanami, wife of Izanagi, who as a couple were said to have created the islands of Japan. During the birth of her final child, Kagutsuchi, she died due the nature of her fiery offspring. This began the cycle of death, marking the end of the creation of Japan. Having died, Izanami found herself in Yomi, the shadowed underworld which mirrored the world of life, though dimly. Grieving, the dead kami's husband traveled to Yomi to retrieve her, only to find her former beauty gone, replaced by a corpse visage. Frightened, Izanagi fled, enraging the dead Izanami, who sent her handmaidens to harry him.

Izanagi escaped Yomi, sealing the path to the living so that they could not enter – and the dead no longer leave. From that point forward, Izanami claimed dominion over Yomi, claiming 1,000 lives in revenge per day for her husband's insult. Izanagi, despairing over his fate, regardless refused to allow such vengeance to undo what he and his wife had made with their hands, and so caused 1,500 lives to be born, per day to counter her.

And now, Ranma was on his way to the mountain that marked Izanami's burial site, according to that myth. "Just think of the money, Ranma," he muttered through clenched teeth, making his way through lightly forested hills as the mountain grew closer and closer.

It wasn't really helping. In all honesty, he didn't need the money, but it was far from a small sum he'd been offered by one of the government Ministry's shadow departments. Apparently, the history of keeping mystic advisors and Onmyōji on retainer from the Heian period still applied, despite being banned publicly in near modern eras. He'd come under scrutiny thanks to word of his feats in Japan and China being too easily discovered or public, something he'd frankly never considered. Why should he, after all? Almost all the casual human contact he'd had since starting his training with Genma had been with other martial artists. It didn't appear to him, growing up, that anyone hid their abilities. Later, he of course learned of normal people who couldn't strike a wall and topple it, or thrust their fist through it, but part of what made him who he was, had to do with_ not knowing that_, early on.

In Ranma's early world, the fact that someone could do those things was basic. His concept of 'normal' had been set by his father and various eclectic masters. All his early life had been an attempt to become that idea, and so, of course he'd grown into the person he'd become. For Ranma, who he was,_ was_ normal.

Apparently, that annoyed this Bureau of Onmyō like a burr in the pants.

The ultimatum he'd been given was pretty simple, and actually wasn't all that bad a deal, galling as it was by nature of being an ultimatum. Work as something of a brute-force exorcist and demon hunter, and they'd help gloss over some of his more bothersome problems on top of the massive paycheck and government references for things like mundane work and school. Genma's legal snarls? Gone. Happosai's presence endangering the Tendos? Handled. Nabiki's few mistakes making her record less than pristine? Erased. Akane's police record from putting the idiots Kuno worked into a rabid mob in the hospital? Redacted. He had a few problems of his own of course, in varying flavors, and the results had been pretty damn impressive.

Of course, the downside was just as dark as the benefits were bright. If he bucked the offer, all those problems the Bureau could fix would suddenly become front page issues. Literally. That kind of thing ruined lives, and for all Ranma could fight dragons and phoenixes and demons, he couldn't fight the state.

So he took the job, and the supplementary training in Onmyōdō which was pretty easy stuff, considering what he already knew and could do. It was all based on Five Elements systems of various flavors, Taoism, and bits and pieces of about a hundred other little things from lore to divination. All told, it was like his family school, only in the flavor of mysticism, rather than martial prowess. Being able to draw on his ki readily took all the really difficult steps out of the process, as for typical onmyōji, that was the real time consuming process. Normally, years of meditation were needed to tap a mystic's ki, or some truly horrendous event that took them to the brink of life or death. In a way, his art mirrored that, but on a smaller, localized scale. Or not so much, when he considered Genma's training methods. Maybe that had been the true purpose of the Neko-ken? Of the near-murderous training? Ranma sighed, passing those thoughts off as pointless. He didn't know when, now, he'd started tapping into his ki, just that he had when much, much younger than was normal. Onmyōdō's methods were never so quick. Doing so in stillness and with various focuses in mind, had instead been his hurdle. A year-long hurdle, in fact.

Considering his usual time-frames for learning new skills – days, if not on the fly during a battle – the process had felt downright grueling. Still, Ranma had to admit, there were quite a few positive points. The money and government backing were serious positives on their own, but add on to those new techniques, increased control over his ki, a greater understanding of the mystical arts, and a pretty much on-demand ability to fight new and interesting foes?

It was like a dream job for someone like him.

Of course, there were those that had been against it. In the beginning Genma had outright boycotted the idea, which took the Tendos along for the ride with Soun playing his usual role as yes-man to the elder Saotome. That changed quick with a visit from some suits sent by the Bureau. The Nǚjié zú – Joketsuzoku or Chinese Amazons as Genma called them when he wasn't in a good mood – were the most displeased by the turn of events. With few exceptions, a sudden disappearance by Ranma would be immediately suspect, and unless masterfully done, easily incriminating. After all, if he disappeared and so did they due to returning to China, the obvious conclusions could be drawn – and the Bureau made it quite clear that while on Japanese soil, the Nǚjié zú contingent were under strict surveillance. Any sudden disappearances – now more than ever – were going to be noted. The fallout of such an action on an international scale would be catastrophic. Added onto Ranma's already perilous status from having bested both the Musk and Phoenix Empires, and the balance between cost-to-reward for pursuing the martial artist had gone far into the red zone.

Xian Pu had been inconsolable, alternately ranting and begging Ranma to reconsider, culminating in a massive brawl that had blown out a wall of the Tendo home after she'd tried to seduce him once more. The result had been less than pleasing, as the Bureau's agents arrived like a black wind, using eclectic arts to bind Mu Tse in spiritual chains, while Xian Pu had been subdued brutally by a trio of three meter tall summoned shikigami.

No one questioned whether the Bureau of Onmyō was serious about their offer or not, after that point. There were remarkably few outcries against it as well from that time forward.

Ranma peered up, breaking from his self-distraction to note that the shadow of Hiba mountain was far too close. "Really let myself get distracted for that long," he mused with a sigh. Considering his closeness to the area he'd be working, Ranma dug into a pocket, pulling out a slim cellphone. Keying in a speed-dial number, he waited for the usual prompt response. "Saotome here. I'm on location."

_"Time and position noted,"_ came the dry reply from his mission contact at the Bureau._ "And... we have you on imaging... now."_

The idea that he could be spotted and tracked via satellite was really strange, but considering his life, definitely not the strangest thing. Taking a small ear-bud style receiver from its place on the back of the phone, Ranma secured it with a little grimace of annoyance. He wasn't quite as comfortable with using a cellphone as many of his peers seemed to be. Another hold over from a life on the road, he knew.

"Well, no reason to worry about that now. Not like anyone else at Furinkan would get hired to check the wards on a kami's grave, after all."

_"That's the spirit,"_ came the voice of his unseen watcher, reminding the Saotome youth that his sometimes faulty internal dialog would be monitored and recorded – likely for the amusement of his peers during their occasional meetings at the Bureau. He blamed his father for that one. Genma's random monologuing was something he'd spent years dealing with.

A few minutes later the martial artist came to a halt. "Alright, I'm at the start of the public path," he noted, orienting himself against a nearby torii gate and the statue beside it. The stone fox that was representative of Inari was wearing a slightly faded red fold of cloth as was common around its neck. The shrine for the grave of Izanami open to the general public was along that marked path, but the actual site – what anyone with any spiritual sense at all could tell – was along a different route. Though he doubted there was any real truth to the myth that a kami was actually buried nearby, Ranma couldn't deny the tense knot of chi that sat brooding in the direction he was going. "Hmm. I've got a strange reading here."

_"Noted, standby,"_ the Bureau agent sent back, amid a flurry of small clacking sounds Ranma had become accustomed to hearing in these situations. Waiting for the agent to finish his work on the computer that the Bureau used to keep records, Ranma leaned against a nearby tree. Rather than stand by idly, he busied himself setting up a few small personal wards, while keeping half his attention on the knotted, oddly coherent tangle of natural ki – chi, in that form it was called – that rested some small distance away. It didn't take much effort to identify the reason his senses had been reading the mountain oddly, even at a distance, though it did explain why he was here.

That tangle he'd noted looked to be what could only be called a 'cramp' in the natural dragon lines – called ley lines sometimes, depending on who you were talking to – where chi was flowing strangely, but still flowing. The dragon lines were still healthy, and the flow picked up pace quickly outside the tangle, but he knew such a thing wasn't good to leave alone. Similar events had cropped up in more populated areas, causing all sorts of strangeness. In fact, it was due to a collection of such things that Nerima had been such a hotbed of peculiar happenings. It wasn't anything really bad, per se, more a kind of phenomenon that was more immune response, than anything else, much like a fever and inflammation were to a person who was sick. The excess of chi and the heavily skewed energies of those influenced tended to cause pressure, which in turn would sometimes rupture, displace, or otherwise break those tangles, restoring the flow of natural chi. The resulting flood of other energies would purge the imbalance, sometimes with staggering results. Most often, those purges came with tsunamis, earthquakes, massive storms, or other disasters.

Clearly, it was best to do what could be done to minimize such imbalances, before they got out of hand or too large.

On their own, small tangles weren't dangerous, and those were what were encountered most often. In places where humans in number dwelt, the ambient chi and available ki could skyrocket, causing all sorts of problems, however. Spirits were drawn to such nexuses, and if the tangle had an imbalance in its energies – yin or yang for instance – presences aspected to that lack of balance would gravitate to them, to feed or for comfort. Yin imbalance was common in metropolitan areas, due to the nature of that kind of chi, and though popular media liked to oversimplify things for better consumption, yin itself wasn't evil or even malicious. Presences that were attracted to heavy concentrations of yin were no more or less deadly than those that would gravitate toward its counterpart, but the simple fact that such concentrations were attractive caused issues.

Yin chi tended to feel less vital, more languid and reticent. It was slower, softer, more subtle in its motion, rather than the raging torrent one could characterize yang for. Yet, it was no less powerful. Water freezing in cracked rock did more to weather it than a sudden burst of boiling fury against its surface. That it was the chi most present in darkness, declining age, dying, rotting, and dead matter caused most of the issue for those aware of it, or those who were slightly educated. Those things were commonly taboo, and had strict cultural restrictions put on them, due to superstition and fear. Japan's culture had just recently in fact put aside one of their own longstanding biases against people who regularly performed jobs dealing with such things, in the effort to minimize the alienation of the Burakumin.

Heavily metropolitan areas – like Tokyo and Kyoto – tended to be subject to occasional yin imbalance, mostly due to the nature of human expansion. Earth covered in concrete, supporting no growing things, simply left sallow and unproductive and sometimes poisoned were natural cold spots, where chi normally in balance would shift its aspect toward yin. Even those unaware of such imbalance felt the difference, and many programs to add life to such places existed. It wasn't much, but it helped.

Ranma mused on that, while he set up a few ofuda with a bit of yang charged ki to keep on his person. Though he had no problems with imbalanced chi normally, the site of a shine with the amount of emotional and historical load Hiba-_yama_ carried could pose a real threat, in the kinds of spirits it would draw.

_"Saotome,"_ his earpiece prompted, pulling him from his preparations._ "Previous survey data and status reports show no explicable cause for a disturbance. Do you have anything to add?"_

Tying one of the ofuda up in the end of his braided hair, while wearing another on a small red string around his neck, Ranma replied, "Its a pretty heavy chi imbalance. Yin aspect, which is odd – this is a mostly pristine area. Makes me think it wasn't naturally caused."

_"You suspect outside interference?"_

Ranma hummed as he kicked off the tree he'd been leaning on, swinging his braid and its ward to watch his back. "Dunno. I'll need to scope the area out to tell. Proceeding to the site, and breaking trail now."

The agent made an affirming sound, which Ranma noted distantly. Almost immediately after leaving the trail and the familiar, comforting presence of the torii and guardian statue, Ranma noted the darkening nature of the chi around him. Stifling a shiver, the martial artist chided himself to stop being so jumpy. Yin was also the chi most present in cold water, and after learning to discern the subtle differences better during his onmyōdō training, Ranma finally figured out what it was about the particular feeling of it that bothered him so.

It felt like Jusenkyo.

In a way it made far too much sense. Though he'd not returned to the cursed place, little things started adding up. The need for something to drown in one of the pools, the cold, the water, the magnetic and nearly living presence of the place... It was a very old and very persistent yin reactor, he figured.

As someone who bore one of those curses, Ranma's soul was tattooed with the particular sensation of being wholly altered by such intense and aspected chi. He'd never forget the feel of the pool closing around him, the strange languor that swept across his mind, and the invading, tenacious, inescapable feel of subtle change that it brought with it. That experience more than anything was part of why Ranma very rarely wanted to talk about his curse. Some thought he was just being macho or not giving it any depth of consideration, believing him to be as shallow as the persona he put forward.

The truth was that he didn't like to think about it, because from all that he'd gathered from some casual self-help reading later on, the closest parallel to the feelings he took from the experience were those of someone who'd been raped. The powerlessness, the violation of his essential self, the slow creeping panic and inevitability of being completely at some other force's whim... He stifled another shudder, shoring up his mental walls while roundly cursing whatever had caused the disturbance nearby.

When the trees obscured the sun above, Ranma's earpiece crackled, making him jump._ "Visual lost."_

"Got it," Ranma replied, knowing that until he could be seen again, he'd need to check in occasionally. The Bureau was nothing if not efficient. "I'm about forty meters from the disruption, and closing at a walk."

_"Any outward signs?"_

Ranma hummed, taking a moment to check on that very thing. Kneeling down, he ran a finger through the loamy dirt, noting the dampness there. Hiba-_yama_ wasn't an arid location, but this much ambient moisture wasn't normal. "Air's heavy and slow. It's a bit too damp – too humid I mean. Like there's a fog settled here, but visibility is good."

The agent made a few notes, as was clear by the tapping of keys._ "Atmospheric bleed-off? That's a powerful disturbance."_

"Ground's moist. What's the distance to the water table?" Ranma rose once more, noting the plant life around him. It was thriving, but the prevalence of rotting leaf matter on the ground and mushrooms clearly spoke of the chi in the area being out of balance. Something else nagged at him, and he frowned. It was just on the edge of his awareness...

Static flared but died down just as quickly, as the agent replied. Distracted from his earlier feeling, Ranma spent a moment checking his phone – four of five bars. Odd._ "Ground water should be sparse there. Table depth is eight to six meters on that side of Hiba-_yama_."_

That wasn't too deep, but with the kind of soil he was seeing, deep enough. "Spring up on the slope?"

_"Far side, but there's good sieving,"_ the voice over his earpiece replied.

Ranma dusted off his hands, shaking his head. "Alright then. Ground moisture is probably due to the disturbance. If anything, it's pulling water up from the aquifers." A yin tangle with water nearby. "Just great."

_"Saotome?"_

"Just bitching, don't mind me," the martial artist replied tersely. Lips thinned in annoyance, he took back to the faint path leading deeper into the forest. "Closing on the site. Should be coming up on the local... oh that's not good."

_"Report,"_ the voice prompted, shaking Ranma from his stupefied staring.

"Right... there's a large bronze torii here as reported, but its completely corroded over, with a heavy patina. It almost looks like its covered in lichen," Ranma noted, warily approaching the massive warding gateway, but stopping at some distance. With some dismay he noted his first impression wasn't exaggerating or mistaken, as the bronze had clearly oxidized heavily, leaving the entire torii's surface a pocked, irregular dull green. Only a few points, heavily inscribed, seemed free of the choking patina. Wound around the gate, a black, leafless, thorny vine was visible, despite the shadowy overgrowth above. Ranma kept his ki tightly wound, letting nothing leak beyond himself, just in case. "I'm not sure what this is, but there's some kind of creeper around the torii as well. Black, no leaves, no tendril runners, thin, sharp thorns about five centimeters long. Vine looks... I can't tell if it has bark at this range or not."

The static rose again, this time remaining as a dull hiss behind the otherwise clear transmission._ "That is... unusual. Definitely a change from the report six months previous. Do you think the vine to be a manifestation or spirit?"_

Ranma considered that before nodding, regardless of his method of communication. "Uh huh, that's my guess. I don't think this is the cause, but clearly whatever is in action here wanted the warding the torii offered messed up. I don't even feel a thing from it, in fact."

_"Not the cause?"_

Wincing, Ranma let his senses extend slightly, trying to verify that. As soon as he did, it felt like something huge – massive, absolutely enormous – took note of him. In that moment of staring into an unknown abyss, the martial artist lost his concentration for just a second, nearly missing the thin, sinuous shadow cast across the ground. Nearly, being the key word. He yelped and snapped his ki back under heavy control just after, as he ducked an unseen vine that had swung down and through where his head would have been just a moment before. Nearly snakelike, it remained, swaying in the air almost innocently. "Son of a_ bitch_..."

_"Saotome?"_ The static was gone from the background now, but seemed to have condensed into irregular pulses that only added to the martial artist's sense of unease._ "Saotome, report."_

"I'm alright," Ranma murmured, watching the vine above him sway in a nonexistant breeze, the missing piece from earlier snapping into place as the adrenaline from the recent scare jacked up his senses. "The vines are... reactive at least. As a side note – no animal sounds, here. Nothing. Birds, insects, ground fauna. I didn't notice it before, but better late than never."

The agent made an unhappy sound._ "Alright, that's enough I think. This seems big. I'm thinking a sealing team of at least three and a backup squad from Kyoto just in case."_

Ranma processed that and couldn't help but agree, while still feeling slightly affronted that his handler didn't think him capable of dealing with this on his own. However, a few close calls in the last year had taught him that being the best martial artist currently working with the Bureau meant little when the opponent sometimes wasn't something tangible, much less human. He was good at onmyōdō, but far from the best – yet. Still, he didn't quite feel ready to pull out of the area, having just got there.

Besides, he knew what the mention of Kyoto meant. He did_ not_ want to deal with that Aoyama woman again for at least a few more weeks. The last time had been strange enough, with her little sister running off after that turtle incident. He still had no idea where that thing had come from, or why the Shinmei-ryū woman was so fixated on him.

Again, he just blamed Genma. It seemed appropriate, considering.

"I'm going to at least scout out the area," he sent back, slowly getting away from the unnaturally mobile vine. That close to the ground, he took note of the small things he'd missed, thanks to the massive shock of the torii's condition, cursing his preoccupation. "Another note; the ground is covered in dead insects, and I'm seeing a few birds under the trees. No larger animals. Lighting is bad due to the canopy, so I can only see them due to the bright feathers."

_ "Advise an immediate withdrawal, Saotome. There is no backup in that area."_

"Noted," Ranma replied absently, staying in a crouch as he crept around the gate. Now that he knew the vines were in the trees, he could see them, like deeper, sharper shadows clinging to the nearby trunks. "Vines are pretty well established here. Possibly poisonous," he noted, inspecting a fallen bird that seemed otherwise unharmed, though he could tell little through the feathers. A nearby squirrel offered him a better opportunity. "Alright, have a small squirrel here. Looks like it wasn't the healthiest thing already, considering," Ranma observed, noting the long-healed scar that had taken an ear and possibly an eye.

Static from his phone was a constant sound, now, resembling the sea at a distance._ "Signs?"_

Ranma pulled at the dead animals fur, ignoring the smells that were rising from the forest floor around him as he moved. "Discoloration around a series of puncture wounds along the flank. Body isn't decomposing quickly, however. May be due to the lack of insect presence."

_"Seems likely. Also implies this is a recent situation."_

"Right. Insects are usually the first animals to adapt to this kind of imbalance," Ranma replied, wrinkling his nose as he returned the dead squirrel to its previous resting place. "Alright. Moving forward toward what appears to be a recess in the mountain slope ahead. There are two old, weathered, dome-like stones on either side. How far was it to the grave?"

Silence rang out from the headset, other than the tidal pulse of static for a long moment._ "The site should be approximately eleven meters south of the gate,"_ the agent finally replied somewhat faintly.

Ranma processed that, but shook his head as he paused. "Not possible. I'm five meters to the south now, and the only... thing..."

_"Saotome? Saotome, respond,"_ the agent called anxiously, his voice blending with the distortion from the phone on more sibilant points._ "__**Ranma**__—"_

"I'm here," the martial artist mumbled, his mind finally putting together just what was wrong with the picture before him. In the myth that drove the interest in Hiba-_yama_, Izanagi had buried his wife on the mountainside, but the cave he'd entered and later escaped Yomi from after his misguided trip had been sealed with a great boulder. Supposedly, that area was further north, now in the city of Matsue. Again, like the public shine somewhere undoubtedly sunnier than where he was, it was a false location, to keep the actual one hidden and secret.

Izanami's tomb, the place where she retreated from into Yomi to become its ruling divinity, was the true entrance to that shadowed world. Ranma swallowed thickly as he regarded the two halves of a very large stone doorway, now clear with his new perspective. He could see that they were ancient, worn, weathered and nearly smooth now. Regular flaws in that surface told a tale of ancient carvings, however, but even that was obscured.

Like the forest behind him and the torii, those massive slabs of stone were choked by a growth of black vines. "Hey," Ranma murmured, quieter now. "I'm guessing the door isn't supposed to be open, then?"

The reply was succinct and to the point._ "No."_

"Advice?"

_"Get the hell out of there?"_

Ranma chuckled, beginning to turn away. This mission was way too big for him to handle alone, and he was not afraid to admit it, "Sounds good," he began, only to pause, his eyes unfocusing for a brief moment. "Huh..."

Static building, his earpiece crackled,_ "—aotome?"_

Blinking his focus back, Ranma opened his mouth to reply, only to fall silent before he could speak. There was a noise. Something familiar. Something... "Hang on, I... there's a voice...?"

Taking a step toward the yawning cavern, now revealed to be much more than a simple shallow dip in the mountain, Ranma focused on his hearing. It was faint, like an echo. A small part of his psyche screamed at him – what was he doing, going toward such a place? – but it was drowned out by a persistent, thrumming buzz that seemed to itch at the cursed young man's skin. His earpiece had picked up a second tone, as well, on top of the now persistent static. It was a near-bass thrum, regular and repetitive. Droning. Rubbing at his chest idly, Ranma took another step, noting that the cavern sloped sharply down from the entrance. He recongnized the itch as something that was caught on a string, and pulled it loose, letting it fall. The faintest hint of stairs could be seen, on the slope that was revealed when his viewpoint crossed the point where his eyes were able to peer into the cavern.

_"—ao—me, res—ull back."_

Behind him some distance, a similar slip of paper as the one he'd discarded fluttered in a faint wind before being snapped into the darkness by a reaching vine.

Licking his lips to abate the dryness there, Ranma took the last few steps till he could look directly into the deep chasm that the breached tomb consisted of. Light could not penetrate that darkness, with the overhanging stone shelf and the canopy of leaves above. Shaking off a moment's conflicting instinct, the martial artist knelt down so he could run his fingers along the edge of the stone shelf. "It's cold," he noted absently, looking up from where his fingers strayed across well-formed, chiseled basaltic rock. The surrounding walls and archway were equally crafted, the stone a deep gray, smooth, polished to what should have been a mirror's luster.

_"S—me, ou—ere!"_

The droning in his ears matched the pulse that seemed to be crawling across his skin. It rose and fell to a beat he could almost recognize, that he had carried with him for nearly five years now. He recognized it; at least a small part of him did. That awareness shuddered away from the memory of Jusenkyo, leaving the martial artist to narrow his eyes, concentrating on the echo he could barely here in the darkness. "What are you saying?" he murmured, eyes distant.

Reaching a hand forward, Ranma wondered why he was being so silly. A little bit of ki, and he could see just fine. Summoning the spark of his vitality forward, he held up a hand to the darkness, trying to see what it was that had snared his attention so.

It was right before him. Dead white skin, black, matted, filthy hair that twisted and clung to the achingly thin naked figure that seemed at once too real, and like an image projected on mist. Depthless pits where eyes should be, in an sharp, inhuman, leering face. Limbs thin as willow branches, reaching forward, black nails tangling in his clothing and behind his neck as they pulled him suddenly forward—

_"She's waiting for you there."_

The words that he saw formed on those lips did not match what he heard, and came through his earpiece in a wash of static and rolling deep tones that only vaguely resembled speech.

The daze lifted from Ranma's mind suddenly. The ki winked out of his hand as it retreated, while behind him the massive booming crash of the doors being slammed back into place washed over him like a physical force. Despite what should have been choking darkness, Ranma found himself face down in a lighted cavern, his weight braced on his hands, eyes wide and staring ahead of him into his own shadow as his heart hammered against his ribs, hard enough to nearly crack them.

Adrenaline slamming into his blood as the last few minutes came back to him in stark relief, Ranma sighted a solid rock wall, and slammed his back into it. Eyes darting around, the martial artist pulled the now silent earpiece from his ear and shoved it in a pocket, head jerking about to try and find some trace of the apparition that had pulled him into—

"Fuck," he breathed, shaking his head hard in denial. "No fucking_ way_. No_ fucking way_ did I just..."

_Light._ Noting for the first time that the cavern was open despite what he'd remembered and felt sure was the closing of the boulder-like doors, the martial artist scrambled to his feet in a rush. Heedless of the noise he made or the rest of the cave at that moment, Ranma rushed to the light that was steaming down from above like a swimmer too long underwater surfacing for air. Breaching the mouth of the cavern, Ranma came to a lurching stop, windmilling his arms as he fought for balance.

The reason was simple. Before him, barely a meter from the mouth of the cavern, the mountain it was punched into fell away in a nearly sheer cliff down into a lush forest. Counter to it, the sky was bright and blue with a few wispy clouds on a strange horizon, the sun painfully bright almost as it sat in a position that he found immediately jarring.

"How long was I... no. Wait a second." Like most that spent their lives living under the sun and stars for years, Ranma was intimately acquainted with the small details of the heavens. The sun, like the moon, appeared differently depending on what position it was in the sky, depending on the time of day and season. Most never noted the subtle differences, as unlike the moon, the sun's radiance made it less obvious until it closed on the horizon. He knew it was due to angles and how much of the atmosphere the sun's light was forced to pass through.

Ranma was not most people.

Shaking his head, Ranma took in the brightness of the sun, how direct it was against the sky, but the strange position it rested in. "That's n... it looks like it should be almost autumn. But it's March." His musings then turned to the horizon that had been itching at his awareness, causing the cursed youth to nearly fall as his legs weakened in shock as he took in what was – and what wasn't there. "Wha-what the hell?"

Aside from the sudden lack of forest and torii before the cavern, the surrounding low mountains around Hiba-_yama_ that he had walked in the valley of were simply_ gone_. In their place, forests and fields stretched for as far as the eye could see, broken by obscured paths cut into the swath, unseen at the height and angle he was at thanks to the thick canopy. Below them, the terrain rolled gently in swells growing like cresting waves to his left, where it seemed the mountain range the cavern he was peering from was a part of, defying his memory. To his right, he could just make out the forest thinning, becoming more regular, where it was clearly being cut for materials then left to regrow over time.

Sliding to his knees, Ranma stared out at the alien world that he knew, deep down and without even needing his ki to confirm, wasn't his own.

–

"Not a trace... what the hell happened?"

Ranma sat down with a huff after his inspection of the shallow cave, having scoured every surface while the sun was shining into it for some hint at what had happened. So far, his efforts were proving fruitless. "I don't get it. I've heard of using dragon lines to move before, but this is ridiculous. There's no way any of the lines here were used like that," frustrated, the martial artist banged his head lightly against the stone behind him a few times, as if it would jog some memory loose.

Using a dragon line to rapidly move wasn't a skill he had, but he didt know a few people who could do so. What he knew of the ability was sparse, as it had been part of a family-only legacy, and due to the rarity, was protected viciously. Viciously enough to provoke assassinations and kidnappings. Regardless, as an accessory to being around those with the skill, he'd learned a few bits of miscellaneous data on how it worked and affected the world. The latter part was what currently kept running over and over in his mind. The one major downside to 'riding the dragon' as they had called the skill, was that the lines were severely taxed along the pathways that were followed. Chi was a natural energy, and using it in a way that countered natural motion taxed the dragon lines immensely.

There was no such wear on the local lines. In fact, Ranma had never in his life seen such strong dragon lines. "Well. Wherever the hell I am, it's probably a nice place," he grumbled, trying to gather his thoughts. "Maybe I'm just not thinking of it the right way..." groaning, he scrubbed his hands through his hair. "But I can't for the life of me remember anything after that... that_ thing_ grabbed me. One moment I was in Shimane and the next..." sparing a glance out over the forest, he let the statement trail off. "Damn it."

The only thing he'd ever heard of being able to do something like this was the Nanban Mirror, and even it was questionable. However, that did bring up a valid point. "Time travel. Maybe. Doubt it, but its no more far-fetched than being dragged into Yomi by some shikome in a cave."

A shikome. Ranma shuddered at that thought. One of the handmaidens of Izanami, the dead kami of Yomi. Dragging him into her tomb... and now he was in some unknown place. The notion just seemed too fantastic; too impossible. Even for him, and his utterly peculiar life. Yet, here he was, staring at the far wall of his small cave, trying to deny his predicament out of existence.

So far, his harsh reality seemed too resilient to be banished so easily.

"Alright," Ranma muttered, growing tired of all the circles his mind was running in. "So I'm in some new place. The air is all wrong, the horizon and terrain aren't familiar, and its the wrong time of year. On the other hand, I'm alive – at least I feel alive – I'm not injured, wherever I am seems to be able to sustain life, and I have shelter. Things aren't all bad. Time to take stock, and see what I have to work with."

Emptying his pockets and the pack he'd carried with him, Ranma performed a brief self-inventory. "Utility knife, camp lighter, camp mess pack, thermal blanket, rope, cellphone without any signal with earpiece, tablet computer with universal charger, packet of sealing paper, ink, ten meters of twine, bottled water, two empty thermoses, Bureau handbook and paperwork, wallet."

Taking up the last item and opening it, Ranma sighed. "Two IDs, twenty-five thousand yen, expense card, phone card, rail and bus passes... pictures." Frowning at the last item, Ranma took care to return his small collection of photographs back into the sealed plastic sleeve that would keep them safe, even if his wallet got wet – which thanks to his curse, was often. His electronics were equally hardened, though they weren't nearly as prone to abuse. The phone, perhaps, but his barely-used computer was practically new. It was something he used for reports and tapping into the Bureau database, but little else. Considering his current problems, Ranma didn't see that changing anytime soon.

As he started putting things back in his pack, the martial artist considered his situation with a frown. "Do I stay here and hope that the next group can somehow get me back home, or try and find out a way to get myself back?" Ranma couldn't help but snort at that statement. "Right, like I have any idea about this kind of thing. I'd probably just blow myself into little pieces before I could figure out how to do it.

"Not that it's ever stopped me before," he concluded with a fierce grin.

–

Smoke in the air was a good indication that there were people near the source. True, fires could be caused by lighting, but the weather for the last three days he'd spent examining the cave had been if anything, perfect. The problem was... "That's no camp fire."

The billows weren't huge, nothing like what would happen if a small town or city was on fire, but they were large enough, and a dirty black that spoke of something messy burning. They also seemed to be coming from just beyond a small rise that obscured the source, on the other side of the cultivated tree area he'd noted when scanning the surroundings and horizon. South, Ranma had decided from watching the sun's motion, not that he had a compass.

Sighing, Ranma packed anything not immediately needful into his mission pack, slinging it over a shoulder with a rueful look to his destination. "Well, I could use a break."

That was understatement of a sort, but he was too prideful to admit it. So far, his three days in this world had been spent getting nothing useful done, and he was running low on camp food. The cave seemed absolutely normal – no traces of what brought him there could be found. None of his attempts to coax some hint at what had happened were forthcoming, and if anything, he was wasting supplies by how resistant his efforts were proving. Like it or not, he needed to gather materials, food, provisions, and if possible, information.

With a jaunty step off the ledge, Ranma tucked into a controlled falling sprint against the side of the cliff below the cave, marking points along the way out of memory for his return trip. He had memorized most of them already, on his wary trips beyond the cave, as clearly he'd want to get back to his starting point at some time, regardless of what he found. Hopefully, the marker and message he'd left behind wouldn't be missed, just in case the second team to arrive at Hiba-_yama_ tumbled through too.

Though he was getting more and more desperate to get back as the days started drawing on, the fact remained that he had no idea how to do so. Sure, he had enough control on his ki now to use it for what seemed like magic at times, bending raw power long cultivated by years of grueling work around his will. He had an almost instinctive grasp of onmyōdō – the Way of Yin and Yang – only a lack of practical work and tutoring from long-standing masters keeping him from being a truly frightening user. In his time with the Bureau, short as it had been, he'd seen and picked up ideas for new techniques that would make Saffon and Herb quake in their boots.

This problem, however, was far from his comfort zone. Sure, he made it a habit to throw himself face-first into learning things, going so far as to have bastardized and self-modified many of his rival's and ally's skills, but even his pride let him admit there were limits. Was he as good as Mu Tse at_ Anki_; the Hidden Weapons Style? Of course not, since he didn't make it a backbone of his fighting art. Could he use it, in a limited way? Definitely. Iron Cloth? Easy. The Bakusai Tenketsu? He lacked the body-hardening portion, but understood the principles well enough to use the attack portion, provided he wanted to suffer the repercussions. The list went on, but there were always limits. Limits like trying to mimic a magical artifact like the Nanban Mirror, without understanding the mechanics, using chi and ki to do so, despite their incompatibility so such a possibly unnatural result? "Sure," he muttered to himself. "Right after I single-handedly colonize the moon."

Potentially punching a hole in the fabric of the universe, to blindly throw himself into, in the hopes of getting home from what could be the underworld?_ Pass_. He_ knew_ that there were worse places out there, and had no desire to see them. Which left him, for good or ill, stuck in what could very well be Yomi. "Well. Am I part of the Musabetsu-kakutō-ryū or not?" Ranma asked himself as he skidded to the forest below, bleeding off speed. "Nothing to do but get used to it. Adapt, Improve, Overcome."

Even if it did mean doing so while in hell.

–

The farm he found at the source of the smoke wasn't in flames. That honor was held by a small pile of dead livestock, bags of what looked to be some kind of grain, and three human corpses. It took all the self control Ranma had at that moment not to do..._ something_, seeing the flames burning away at what had been a young boy, no older than ten at the most.

Glacial blue eyes snapped to the farm house proper, across from a now empty set of pens. A dispassionate analysis was gathered – there had been a mild struggle, nothing much, in the nearby field. The standing crops there were bent oddly in ways that said something violent had happened amid them, leaving them stained with blood, and in some places cut for no reason he could imagine. There was a lot more blood in the livestock pens, and it was a messy and brutal story written there. Churned earth, splatters of blood, spilled entrails, and muddy swaths kicked up from fleeing, crippled, dying forms. He'd seen cruelty a number of times, at the hands of power-mad or just evil people and beings, but nothing deserved to be tortured to death, for the amusement of their killers. His respect for life didn't make him a vegetarian or anything, but it did make him_ respectful_. One gave thanks for the life they had, by respecting the life they take and find as they pass by without harm. Broken doors and windows, shattered fence gates, tools ruined and left wherever, without care.

"Bandits," Ranma snarled, knowing the signs from his time in China's wilderness, where such things still existed far from civilized eyes. They weren't always the same, sometimes claiming their actions were for some other goal than just doing whatever they wanted, and sometimes never called themselves 'bandits', but the results were almost always similar. Sometimes it was justified by class, or power, sometimes by a lack of those things, and done to spite them. Sometimes, for no reason at all. But, the one thing they always shared, was that need to hide – the put themselves out of the common view. Some basic part of the human psyche, Ranma understood, made those that broke that fine line want to stay out of the light and in view of civilized eyes. Mainly due to the fact that had they happened in view of those eyes, those who lived that life would quickly find themselves lacking it.

Ki senses snapped out, digging into the dragon lines, plucking at them like the strings of a finely tuned instrument. When he was just starting to really use ki, when he was young, he likened this sense to his limited experience in meditation. Opening the mind, extending the ki into the senses, becoming tranquil so that one could hear the world. Later, he learned it was just easier to use what the world was doing naturally, like tapping a phone line. Perhaps it was less peaceful, and to anyone nearby when he did so, it was clear that he was doing something, but there were times for subtlety, and times for_ getting it the hell done_. Ranma figure this easily qualified as the latter. The benefits of age and experience.

"Five men, various ages. Weak. Pathetic, really." Ranma noted to himself quietly. Typical bandit impressions. Without a thought, he snapped the Umisenken's cloaking field of non-ki around himself as he walked purposefully toward the farmhouse, fading from view like a heat-shimmer over desert sand. As he did, he murmured his findings, eyes distant. "One... girl. Age unknown, strange ki in that one. Wounded, but strong."

He was a handful of meters from the front door when Ranma came to a sudden halt, his mind catching up with what his heart was leading him to do. Ki was dangerous that way. It was the energy of life, and it could and would flow with emotions with great ease, feeding them power like fuel to a fire. What_ was_ he doing? What was he going to do once he... with a grimace he took a deep breath, pushing his roiling emotions down so his head didn't feel so full of black, raging fog.

"Alight," he considered to himself. "Calm down, Saotome. Yes, bandits... murderers. I have no idea how fighting is going to work in this place, how people heal; if people heal, or even if they're really the ones responsible.

"Deep breath, Saotome. Calm down. Think. I know it's not your specialty, but this isn't home. Shit may be totally different here."

The sound of a young woman begging, finally ending in dull impact and short, pained wail made his decision for him. He couldn't do anything standing outside agonizing on his choices, and knew better than to try. His father had taught him a long time ago in a dirty, dank, hellish little corner of China that sometimes people were really without redemption. It was never right to make that choice easily, and never going to get easier for him to make it. Which was why, when Ranma was first exposed to bandits, it was Genma that walked into the broken, half-burned, derelict farm house to exact a nameless, moral vengeance.

Ranma, for all that he sometimes felt hate for the man, never let that respect that had swelled up in him fade from that day. That was why, when he used the Yamasenken's door-breaching technique to blast the farmhouse's front doorway aside, causing the remnants to slam into and throw one of the flatfooted bandits into the far wall, he didn't agonize on using what was supposed to be a sealed technique. He respected his father enough to take something he made for the wrong reasons, and use them for the_ right_ ones, knowing even on the other side of whatever screw-up he'd gotten himself into this time, his pop would be proud.

Musabetsu-kakutō-ryū. Adapt. Improve. Overcome. Yourself, most of all.

All told, the bandits lasted maybe four seconds after the door was kicked in. Ranma didn't bother to recall the actual fight – if it could be called that – focusing his attention on the small, broken-looking woman being menaced by some ratty, filthy, equally young looking teen with a scalp of hair tied to his belt that matched the young girl's. With clinical precision, he noted the nicked and still somewhat bloody knife the boy had in his belt, the fact said belt was not holding up the bandit's pants as they were on the floor, and the leer on his face as he almost comically loomed over the cringing girl, before the shock of his entrance and rapid ambush had registered.

Then he kicked the moron's heart out of his back, the bloody muscle shredding itself through his ribs as he imparted a bit of brutal truth to the former bandit._ Crime and murder don't pay_. Saffron had been his first kill, but since joining the Bureau, certainly not his last. Ranma learned the hard way that sometimes martial arts was enough, and sometimes you had to_ fight_ or people who didn't deserve it_ died_.

Five seconds after the house's front door all but decapitated his first target, said door rattled into the silence that filled the rest of the former home, broken only by the panicked breathing of a young woman and the easy breaths of a very lost young man. Not really knowing what to say in such a situation, Ranma went for the standard, for him; "Ah, yeah. Saotome Ranma. Sorry about this."

When the girl's attention snapped to him and she began pawing at the ground till she found his hem of his pants and shoe, he was confused. When she latched onto him and started shaking silently, he just dropped a hand to her blue-black hair, sighing quietly. "It's alright," he murmured, feeling far too old for his short years. "It'll be alright..."

–

The situation was just strange, but in a way, also very simple. "I don't know anything about farming, though...?"

"That does not matter," Hitomi Asano, last surviving member of her family, argued. She was still painfully skittish around him, which was understandable really, but at the same time, clung to his presence – if not bodily – like a life preserver. Since her rescue, she had refused to be out of line-of-sight of him, which the martial artist understood somewhat. Human nature wasn't that hard to figure out, in the baser concepts anyway. He'd saved her, so she felt safe in his presence, Ranma knew. Until she got over the attack, Hitomi would probably need something like that. It wasn't precisely healthy for her to fixate on him for that, Ranma knew, but though aware of such human quirks, he wasn't able to really do more than be aware of them. He was a martial artist, not a psychotherapist.

_That_ would have been a damn handy skill back in Nerima, really.

She was also clearly not ready to let the point she was trying to make drop. "You said it yourself; you need a place to stay. I need someone... to help with the farm. Please."

_"To keep me safe,"_ Ranma corrected, though silently and to himself while he kept the comment to himself. One thing he didn't have much experience from while working with the Bureau was what came after their more damaging operations. The clean up, as it was called often. That involved literal clean up of the sites, disposal of dangerous materials, obscuring the signs that something out of the ordinary happened, and the disposition of those caught in the middle. As Ranma was often reminded by those that handled his deployment, he was a blunt tool, best used when delicacy wasn't required.

A young woman who had just had her family and livelihood destroyed in front of her eyes for the amusement of a bunch of sick excuses for humanity and who had narrowly escaped her own unpleasant fate definitely required a delicate touch.

It was really too bad he sucked at flatly denying cute girls who did the big watery eyes thing. One day that was really going to bite him in the ass. Snorting, Ranma just called to mind a certain Joketsuzoku, firming his resolve. "I understand that, but I can't stay here," he countered. "I'm not from around here. Heck, it's a fluke I even speak the same language!"

A fluke that worried him, a lot. Coincidence was a weird, unpleasant thing in his world. One Ranma usually regarded with equal parts wariness and the dull expectation of past experience. Part of him was glad that they shared a common means of communication. A greater part of him just saw it as more proof that the world he was currently in was just_ wrong_ on some fundamental level.

"Your accent is very strange," the young woman agreed quietly, before shaking her head hard. "Please. Just for a while. Just help me... get things back in order."

Ranma's pragmatic nature considered the situation. Brushing aside the knee-jerk reaction to some girl asking him to do something he wasn't prepared to, Hitomi's request wasn't really that bad. Honestly, it was a no-lose sort of thing. He'd have a real place to stay, something to keep him occupied, human company, and someone to teach him about this new world. On the other hand, he'd be away from the cave and any attempts at contact that didn't involve someone coming to this place directly. He could leave a message at the site, of course, but that was an absentee stopgap. And that was all provided the Bureau_ could_ try and retrieve him.

There was a very real chance they would write him off as a loss to the disturbance at Hiba-_yama_. If the situation became too severe, it was very likely to happen, especially if there wasn't any trace left behind of him. That had been Ranma's primary motivation for staying at the cave and desperately trying to find some way to make contact, to breach the path back, or await some kind of message or sign.

Regardless, Hitomi had a point. He did need somewhere other than a cave to stay, and with the farm being so close by... "Alright. I'll stay," Ranma muttered, getting a blinding smile in return, that quickly faded into a nervous glance to the side. "Just for a while. I might have to go at some point, and if I do – that's it. Understood?"

Hitomi sketched a low bow immediately. "Yes, Saotome-dono."

The address and demeanor startled him. Ranma rubbed at his head lightly, praying to what and whoever was listening that the girl wasn't some long-lost sister or relation to Kodachi. Putting those thoughts aside, his expression turned grim; now wasn't the time to get bent out of shape because the girl had latched on to a strange coping mechanism, had odd gratitude reactions, or just had some kind of archaic upbringing. For all he knew, this could be normal for her and how she had behaved earlier, what he would consider normal behavior, the result of shock. It just wasn't his area of expertise. "C'mon, I need you to help me with something, before we do anything else."

Nervously at first, the girl stood nearby. As she did, a detached, cool distance seemed to flicker in her expression. "Saotome-dono?"

Moving to the ruined doorway, Ranma let his eyes rest on the makeshift pyre the bandits had started. He then spared a brief glance to the bodies tucked nearly out of view; the remnants of those five killers. "Your family... did they have a graveyard?"

The strength in Hitomi's stance withered instantly. "...Yes. It is small but... yes. It is to the north of the farmhouse."

"Alright. I'm going to put that fire out, and see what can be... well, done."

Hitomi's eyes never strayed near enough to the pyre to actually see it. "And what would you have me do, Saotome-dono?"

Ranma considered the young woman, and the distance she was putting between herself and the world with a weary moment's attention. He just didn't know how to deal with this sort of thing. People that needed beating down to get a point? Easy. Spirit that needs convincing to move on? Not a problem. Dragon lines tangled up like a preschooler's shoestrings? Just let him at it. But, a girl who was clearly grieving, but didn't know how? For that, he didn't have a damn clue. "Write down their names, and what you want on the memorial," he murmured quietly, walking away.

Hitomi regarded the young man that had saved her with distant eyes that hid a fierce contemplation for a long moment before nodding. "It will be as you say, Saotome-dono."

Shrugging off his discomfort at such an address, Ranma moved to the farm's front lawn. The task before him was grim, dirty, and not one he would have normally taken onto himself. Still, if he was going to help around the farm, help the girl with nothing left keep living, something had to be done. For one, her family needed a proper burial, and there was no way he would make a girl dig through ashes and half-burned bodies to begin the process. The rest of the pyre needed to be torn down and scattered or just buried as well, to erase the memory of what happened. Maybe he'd plant a tree there or something to break the image of the ground there up. That kind of constant reminder wasn't good for anyone.

Occupying himself in such ways, Ranma performed the tasks he'd set for himself. It didn't take him long to extinguish the fire and pull what was left of the bodies out, using a few long curtains from the farm as temporary shrouds. Sounds of motion from within the farmhouse told him that Hitomi was inside, and thankfully for the moment, out of view. The water he'd used had triggered the curse three times in short order, but a few hot rocks and a thermos had undone the change easily. Right now, he didn't have time to go into it, nor the patience. At least this time he wasn't in a position for it to become some massive issue.

With careful hands Ranma took the bodies of the Asano family to the north of the farm, which with some luck, turned out to be the area on the other side of it from him. Sure, the path was a little long, but the obscuring trees made it easier to relax and move, with less worry that the girl he was trying to help would see him. She hadn't burst into tears yet, but he knew it was just a matter of time. It would be easier for them both if she grieved in private.

An hour later found him busy filling five graves – his earlier observations proving wrong. Hitomi's parents, two older brothers, and one younger had died that day. It made sense that the family was larger, considering the size of the farm, looking at it now, not that he really knew much about that kind of life. Sure, he could live off the land, in the wilderness, on the road... but farming? Ranma shook his head with a sigh, as he found a nearby boulder that would suffice for a monument, with a little creative coaxing. Burial practices seemed different here, he noted looking at the other graves, and hoped he wasn't taking too many liberties doing things in a vaguely western style that seemed similar. With the large stone moved where he could work with it, Ranma went back to the farmhouse and Hitomi for what to put on the marker.

The girl in question was sitting on the front deck of the home, which belatedly he noted, was of a strange semi-western style. It had some familiar elements, but the shape, materials, and sturdiness of it reminded him of some of the fusion architecture he'd seen. That was good – he had no idea how to repair rice-paper screens without the materials on hand. With all the trees nearby, however, the farmhouse would be back in shape in a few days.

Hitomi's quiet cough pulled his attention back to his current task. "I have what you asked for, Saotome-dono" the younger girl held out a slip of paper. "I did not know what to say, really. To be honest... I did not know them all that well."

"Huh?"

"I was a court servant until two years ago," she explained, face pensive. Ranma noted the redness in her eyes and how it seemed she'd taken his time working to loosen some of her emotions, with a relieved inner sigh. "After that, I was... I ended up in Akasanki-_gai_. A trade city a small distance away. The Asano family hired me to help with the youngest son, after Asano-san's wife took ill and ended up bedridden a few months ago." With a small sigh she sat against one of the supports holding up a slanted awning that served to offer shade and cover from the elements. "I was also to marry one of the elder sons. I was... not pleased with the situation. But life is seldom fair."

Ranma nodded slowly, taking a seat across from the girl. If she felt like talking – he didn't want to stop her. It was better than dealing with her crying, which he knew wouldn't go well. He'd picked up a bit more experience in knowing how to deal with those kinds of displays, but it was never quite good enough, really. Too many years having those things mocked, belittled, and cast aside in favor of focus and determination by his father. He could listen, however. All that cost him was some time, something he recently came to be in surplus of.

"They were not bad people, the Asano family. I had no future after arriving in this country, and Akasanki-_gai_ is not a place one such as myself could make one. Still, I was... sometimes, resentful," the young woman admitted, head bowed. "I would wish some nights for something to happen, to get me away from this place. To go back to my home."

Uncomfortable with so much being said, Ranma fidgeted in place a moment. "Ah, was it really so bad? Here?"

Hitomi shook her head without hesitation. "No. I had grown to tolerate it, after my time in Akasanki-_gai_. I was grateful for the opportunity to join their family, even while resenting it. I just never wanted to leave my home. That resentment, I am ashamed to say, I quietly harbored and aimed at them.

"I was never warm," she admitted, eyes fixed on her knees, where they were drawn up to her chest. "There was no lack in my care or my duties. But I was... as you see me now. Only recently did I begin to understand what it was they were offering me, and now..."

"Now it's all gone," Ranma muttered, sighing afterward. "Well, not completely. The farm is still here, if a big roughed up. I guess that's why you begged me to stay?" Seeing the young woman nod slowly, he loosed a quiet chuckle. "Makes sense. You want to make things right, somehow."

"Well," the martial artist grunted, hopping to his feet. "I don't know much about that. Never did quite pull that kind of thing off myself. I do know you can't dwell in the past, much as I don't take my own advice sometimes. Is this what you really want? To stay here?"

Eyes distant, Hitomi simply shrugged. "I do not know, yet."

His own gaze taking in the farm's expanse, Ranma shook his head slowly. "There's not much way one person can do all that needs to be done, around here. Even lacking the animals. Some things are going to need to be left undone."

"That is fine, Saotome-dono," Hitomi murmured into her knees. "I thank you for any help you can offer."

Waving the girl off, Ranma took the slip of paper with him back around the house. "Never a simple day, huh? Oh well. Best to get this done before it gets much darker out."

–

Used to being woken up early, if not precisely by choice, Ranma snorted and blinked awake at the sounds coming from deeper in the house he had awakened in. For a long moment he stared at the strange and unfamiliar ceiling above him, eyes slowly taking in the vaguely western-styled room before his memory settled and the previous day's events came back to mind. "Ah, right," he murmured, sitting up to thumb away the sand in his eyes. "Bandits..."

He winced at that, shaking his head hard after. "Never get used to it," he quoted his father, holding out a hand flat and parallel to the floor. "Never get used to killing, but at the same time, know that sometimes it's something you have to do." Ranma stared at his hand, waiting till the tremors and shaking eased, breathing in the chi of the house, the tentative peace it still bore in its walls. Like him, it had been shaken, damaged. Like him, it would return to its former peacefulness, if bearing scars. He hadn't been a child in more than a decade, and had taken his first life five years ago, but it still left a wound. It hurt, but he was_ glad_ of that hurt. It meant he was still human.

Once he'd regained some semblance of his center, Ranma rose and dressed, easing into a set of clothing that had been set out while he was asleep. Judging by the faint light outside, it was very early morning, around five AM. Verifying approximately with his watch that he'd set over the last few days based on the sun, Ranma nodded and dressed in the simple but sturdy clothing, assuming that Hitomi had taken his previous set to be washed.

Ranma raised a brow at his lightly perused belongings, finding nothing missing, but noting a definite deliberate nature to the disturbance. It seemed Hitomi had been looking for something, and had made no secret of it. "Hm, one more thing to ask about."

Of that list, he had quite a few entries. Right now, she was his best and most available resource for information, and for the low price of helping on a farm for a while, he could probably get all he needed, immediately. More would likely take a city – Hitomi had alluded to one being nearby, luckily. He was no Nabiki Tendo when it came to gathering intel and information, but he wasn't a prodigy martial artist for nothing. He'd picked up enough to more than get by, in his three years living with the Tendos.

It was the lack of proper tools that would handicap him, Ranma knew. Money, contacts, networks, and leverage. Which put him in the lowest rung when it came to the ladder of information, and that would be limiting. Still, it was something. Right now, all he had was a cave, his skills, and time. Anything he could add to that would be progress.

Speaking of, he had a farm to learn how to run, and a maid to talk to.

"Maid. It was honestly the only thing that made sense," the martial artist reasoned to himself. The servile attitude, the job position, the reference to her past... Hitomi had likely been in a similar position all her life, and was just continuing on in that vein now that she was set adrift. Which made their situation rather amusing, Ranma realized – he was working as cheap labor for a maid.

Chuckling to himself, the martial artist walked into the familiar space of a den, and a cup full of cold water. "Well. Took long enough, bu—" she cut off the remainder of her quip as a knife tilted the now-female's chin up. She'd sensed absolutely no ill intent up to that point, and the shift had distracted her – eyes clearing of the water, Ranma looked back into the dark amber, nearly brown eyes of her host, Hitomi. Disarming the maid would have been easy, but for the moment, she wanted to know how this would play out. So, she met the woman's eyes and waited.

–

Kazuno held the knife steady, ready to spend the fraction of a second it would take to perform one of maybe a dozen small motions that would end her target's life. For all her somewhat stoic nature, she had enjoyed her life as Hitomi Asano, and knew what a ninja at the farm meant. Someone had tracked her down, and she was either going to end up back in Wind as a broodmare at the Yondaime Kazekage's pleasure, or in some other thrice-damned Hidden Village for the same reason, or worse. Perhaps one of the slavers in Akasanki-_gai_ knew of the bandits, and had come to collect the wares personally? A nuke-nin, forsaking their village joining up with the group, perhaps, here to avenge them or claim their spoils now that his partners were dead?

She didn't know. But she would soon. "Do not move," she ordered seeing the blue-eyed, red-haired girl before her return her gaze languidly, her body relaxed in a way that regardless screamed readiness to her senses, muted as they were. "Do no blink. You will answer my questions, or you will die. Say nothing unless prompted. Do you understand me, yes or no?"

The woman who had been under a Henge to look like her savior spoke quietly, her voice melodious. "Yes."

Kazuno took a moment to consider what about that voice had seemed... off. She would need more information to know – need to hear her speak more. "What is your name, Village, and rank?"

Mild confusion spread over the girl's face, but she understood a prompt answer was expected. "Ah, Saotome Ranma. No village, other than Nerima, Tokyo I guess. And rank? Odd," she seemed to consider that a moment before replying, at length. "I'm the master of the Saotome Musabetsu-kakutō-ryū, and a field agent operative for the Bureau of Onmyō under the Ministry of Japan." Looking back up at her captor's near-brown eyes, a familiar deep blue stared back. "Sorry about this."

Anger simmered there, and confusion. Hearing her speak had been what she needed, to place what was itching at her mind. The girl had the same accent as her savior. The same strange cadence of speech, to the letter, tone, and inflection. Her eyes were the same. Even the warm spark of intelligence and mischief within them was the same. Taking a moment to glance at the slightly shorter girl, she noted her wearing the same clothing that she'd laid out, wearing the odd timepiece Saotome had, and even had hair in the same style. Those things made no sense. Henge could duplicate them easy enough, but why bother, really? That implied the girl was wearing them... but no. Any small impact would disrupt a Henge, and trying to pass herself off as Saotome would have been foolish. Ninja didn't work that way. Rank genin out of Suna didn't work that way.

Her mind whirling, Kazuno let a scowl bend her lips. "Explain."

The petite but very fit young woman before her did so, looking quite vexed in the process. "I'm Ranma Saotome. I have a curse that changes my gender, with water. Cold for female, hot for male."

"Some bloodline?" the woman known recently as Hitomi Asano murmured, eyes narrowing. "Or a genjutsu?" She didn't expect an answer to those musings, merely letting her thoughts flow, hoping for some reaction.

What she got was a blank stare, then an intense focus she'd never experienced before. "'Technique'? Blood line? What are you talking about?"

Kazuno stared at the young woman. No way. She actually expected her to believe that she didn't know what those two words implied? No child in this world didn't know the word 'bloodline' or 'jutsu', and one from Konoha? Then again... there was the accent. An accent she'd never in all the time she spent in the Kage's service as a servant heard, from ninja from around the known world. This was getting her nowhere – and Saotome had yet to show up, despite the noise. The middle Asano brother had been a very deep sleeper, and with all the noise they'd made, even he would have been up by now. Perhaps that was a question she could get an answer, or at least a reasonable and logical reaction to? "Where is Saotome-dono?"

Exasperated annoyance met her question. "I'm standing right here. Seriously, just get some water—"

"I will not turn by back to a ninja – what kind of fool do you take me for?"

The blue-eyed girl blinked twice, slowly. "Ninja? I'm not a ninja. Heck, I mean, I'm good but me and Konatsu-chan are totally different types of artist."

"Your partner, this Konatsu, where is she?"

Another blink. "Back in Nerima, maybe down in Osaka, following Ucchan. It's been a while since I talked to him. And he's partners with Ucchan, not me."

Kazuno wanted to pull at her hair. "Fine," she ground out between clenched teeth. "Where is this Ucchan, then?"

"Nerima," the red-head drawled, as if speaking to an exceptionally slow child. "Look, I, oh for kami's sake—"

With a muffled cry, Kazuno found herself tangled up in her own yukata, as the red blur that had been her prisoner suddenly seemed to be everywhere, except where she'd had her. With little more to consider than why her clothes were suddenly on all wrong, the maid found herself sitting rather uncomfortably on the wide couch in the farm's main room. Shaking off her dizziness, she watched as the red-haired stranger went quickly into the farmhouse's kitchen, leaving her alone.

Bogging, the former Suna maidservant struggled against her bonds, making no headway at all before the impersonator returned, two large pitchers of water in hand. "Alright, Hitomi. I'm going to demonstrate this."

What followed had the woman on the couch blinking stupidly for a long moment. "Genjutsu? But," wincing, she shook that motion off. Her shoulder was at the point where it was nearly dislocated the night before, and though she didn't show it, the joint was paining her terribly at that moment. Had this been a complex illusion, those pulses of pain would have broken the hold on her such a technique could have. Unless... it was truly powerful, but then she'd never escape. Kazuno shook her head hard at that – such thinking was beyond her experience, and the panic it might bring would do nothing to help her.

Of course, that left this person before her, and the only explanation they'd offered. A curse, not a bloodline. A curse that changed the gender of the afflicted with water... it was like a story out of fairytale. Yet, here proof stood, with no other explanation. With that thought, the tension left Kazuno's body, leaving her slumped against the couch and staring down at the ground. "...who are you, then? You don't have a Village symbol in any of your things – I checked to put it out for you. The clothes you wear don't resemble anything I've ever seen, and some of those things in your pack are just so strange... but ninja have strange things, sometimes," she rambled on, shaking her head as her mind tried to reconcile what she knew, against what she'd seen. "But if you're not a ninja, then what_ are_ you?"

Ranma slumped down to sit beside the lost-looking young woman, resting his elbows on his knees. "Honestly, I'm just someone who got really, really lost. If the curse has you this confused, then hearing about how I got here would just be worse. Just... for now I guess, think of me like a really good fighter from someplace really far away. A place so far away that you've never heard of it, in fact."

Kazuno shifted, pulling herself back upright despite the throbbing ache in her shoulder that roared into full agony due to the unkind angle it was bound in. Regardless, she showed nothing on her face from that pain. It was pushed down into the cold void she felt within, where a seal left a vital part of her feeling empty and wasted. A small, private part of her laughed – here she was, two years away from her service to a Kage, and still relying on those old mental tricks. Oh well. They served. "That is... a difficult thing to do. But I will try. Will you explain, Saotome-dono? If you are not a ninja, then how...?"

Ranma scratched at his now-damp hair for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. "I'll try and explain things, but we have some work to do, today. Stuff that won't wait."

A tiny twitch of her lips was the only indication of the woman's amusement. With the crisis averted, she let Kazuno the Kage's maidservant fade back into Asano Hitomi the farm maid. As expected, that also brought back a significantly increase in the pain of her shoulder. With a groan she bowed her head, shaking slowly. Ranma, of course, panicked. "Oh, crap – I'm sorry!"

–

"Next time, say something if you're hurt," Ranma chided, tying off the sling that would keep Hitomi's arm from moving too much, thereby aggravating her shoulder injury. I wouldn't need to be on for too long, as long as he kept up the pressure-point treatment and ki infusions, but joint damage was tricky business. "Though, I should have asked after... eh. Suppose I was distracted."

"It is fine, Saotome-dono," the young woman assured him, shaking her head. "I was honestly not thinking about it either. I just avoided doing anything to aggravate it, but the... interesting bind you put me in just happened to make it hard to ignore."

Ranma winced at that reminder. Using Happosai's more creative clothing-manipulation techniques wasn't something he'd really practiced much, given their nature. Of course, even using it in non-perverse ways had the potential to bring all kinds of attention he didn't want, so it wasn't something he considered mastered by any degree. Then again, other than a lack of observational skill, he couldn't have known about Hitomi's shoulder. "Eh, well. Disarming you any other way could have been painful, and I really didn't want to hurt you, just to prove I wasn't some psycho sneaking around as myself... not that I understand that very well."

The maid blinked at him slowly, once. "You really don't know." It was more statement than question.

"No, I really don't," Ranma groused, rising to his feet as he finished the last of the sling's adjustments. It was crude, but it would do. "Like I said, just assume I'm new here, like I fell out of the sky or something."

Hitomi blinked up at the young man and nodded. "Well. There is much to explain, then, Saotome-dono."

"I was going to have you make a list of things that need to be done, maybe a few things inside while I take care of a few loose ends, but... eh. I'm getting the feeling I should learn about this sooner, rather than later." So saying, Ranma helped the young woman to her feet. "Come with me, we can talk while I work."

"Work on what, Saotome-dono?"

"Burying the dead."

Ranma was placing the last of the dead bandits onto a tarp he'd used the night before when Hitomi finally found the nerve to speak. "I... I am sorry for making you do all this alone."

Grunting slightly as he dusted off his hands, Ranma shrugged. The smell was foul, but the bandits were clothed – there were plenty of handholds that he could use to avoid the mess. "It's fine. I didn't really want you to help with this part." Waving his hand down at the five corpses, the pig-tailed man grimaced. "This is my fault. My job to sort it out."

Regardless of his words, Hitomi swallowed thickly and moved to take up a corner of the tarp before he had, with her good hand. For a long minute Ranma stared at the woman, before nodding once, slowly. Together, they dragged the makeshift sled where he indicated, near one of the fallow fields that had been set aside for the next planting.

"This field, this should do."

For a few seconds the maid looked between him and field before greening slightly. "You are... going to bury them._ Here_?"

Ranma snorted a quiet laugh. "Something like that. While I work, why don't I explain a bit about myself, since I get the feeling your side of things is going to take a lot longer."

Off-center, Hitomi simply nodded as Ranma moved out into the untilled field, dragging the tarpaulin behind him. "For most of my life, I was trained as a martial artist."

Following behind a few steps, the woman furrowed her brow slightly. "A... you mean a taijutsu specialist, Saotome-dono?"

"'Body technique'? That what you call it around here?" Ranma shrugged. "Maybe, if you have something like that here, yeah. I started learning about the time I could walk, and have been most of my life, in one way or another. Till about... say a little more than a year ago, when my focus shifted. About five years ago, I picked up my curse," he added, figuring that would come up at some point, anyway.

Hitomi listened intently, though she frowned slightly at the lack of details. "So you trained just in taijutsu? What about ninjutsu? Genjutsu?"

Sending her a puzzled look, Ranma shook his head. "Like I said, I'm not a ninja. I'm a martial artist. Why would I have learned those things?" The blank stare he got in return had Ranma fidgeting slightly. "Er, what?"

"So... you do not know how to use chakra, then?"

It was Ranma's turn to affect a blank look, dropping the bandit he was moving atop the ground, some distance from the others he was spreading around the field. "Use... chakra? You don't_ use_ chakras, you just, well,_ have_ them."

The maid rubbed at her forehead lightly. "I believe we have encountered our first linguistic barrier. By chakra I mean the energies of the body and spirit, or more specifically, their combination, Saotome-dono."

Ranma was silent for many moments as he stood back, folding the tarp slightly to make it easier to carry once more. "I think I know what you're talking about. When I heard you mention chakra, I was thinking about something I've learned about a while back when I was just starting meditation. It was about seven spiritual nodes, that the body's ki travels through. Now, what you described to me sounds more like ki, than what I call chakra."

"And what is ki?"

With a slight smirk, Ranma held up his hand, palm to the sky, summoning a small blue-gold sphere of faintly luminescent ki. "This."

Hitomi stumbled backwards, tripping over the loose soil. "W-what? That's not possible!"

"Hey, you were the one talking abou—"

"That is pure chakra!" the young woman nearly shrieked. "You said you weren't a ninja, then how are you doing that?!"

Ranma released the small spark of ki and held his now-empty hands up, in a placating gesture. "Whoa, hey. Calm down, Hitomi-chan. I told you before – I don't know this stuff you're used to, alright? Explain to me why that's so weird for you."

Brown eyes wide, the maid worked to catch her breath. She'd been startled to feel the sudden spike in chakra from the young man, but to see him so casually call it up in a pure, non-elemental form, and then just hold it above his hand... she'd never seen such a thing. "Chakra does not work like that. Chakra is mixed inside the body, then used for techniques. You cannot just..."

For a silent moment, Ranma considered the woman's words. Finally, he nodded and seemed to come to a conclusion. "I see. It seems you're used to pulling on ki differently. You keep referring to these jutsu – techniques though. Do people use this chakra just to reinforce or supplement their bodies?"

"That is what taijutsu is," Hitomi stated blankly, before realizing her mistake. "Oh, I see..."

"Right. I don't know any of your terms or anything, or I guess more what you mean by them, and I didn't learn how you expect me to have. Now, I have a question... what is a ninja?"

Hitomi managed to hide her incredulity. "That... a ninja is..." shaking her head hard, she tried again. "Ninja are trained mercenaries who have access to chakra, and use various chakra skills to perform tasks, and serve as a supplement to the armed power of the Element Nations and their allies."

Ranma loosed a quiet whistle. "That come out of a textbook?"

The maid flushed and looked away. "Y-yes."

Chuckling, Ranma nodded as he knelt down by the edge of the field. "So. Your version of chakra is different, and I think your version of ninja is too. Where I'm from, ninja are pretty much nonexistent. Maybe a handful in all of... well where I come from. They're more like assassins than military though. Shadows and traps and that kind of thing."

"The ninja of the Hidden Villages are much the same, Saotome-dono. Do your ninja not use jutsu?"

"Not like you're thinking," Ranma murmured. "Least I'm fairly sure not. Let me guess, your ninja are defined more in their ability to use ninjutsu, than their aptitude as silent killers?"

Hitomi's mouth worked for a moment before she nodded somewhat unsurely. "Sometimes. Some Villages rank certain things higher than others, I'm sure. Hidden Mist is very renowned for their assassins, but they are weak, in most estimates, in their ninjutsu for instance."

Picking up a nearby stick, Ranma used it to scratch out a symbol in the loose dirt. "This, is this how you write 'nin'?"

The young woman nodded. "Yes. Well, it looks a little different, but I can tell what you meant."

Ranma nodded, considering that a moment. "Strange. I'd almost think that here, what you call ninjutsu came first, then ninja. Just because of how much you seem to suggest ninja use these jutsu for just about everything, and how you described them, I mean. How many ninja are there, anyway?"

He'd intended on it being a trick question, really. A visible ninja wasn't a ninja, after all. When he got an answer that numbered in the thousands, the branch fell from his hands. "What? Are you kidding?" Seeing the maid confirm her statement, Ranma fell backwards to sit in on the ground as his mind chewed on that for a few minutes.

_Thousands_ of ninja._ Thousands_ of martial artists – career killers – who could use ki, or something similar enough to count, who acted like military to their countries. Ninja that apparently had techniques for illusions, whatever ninjutsu qualified as, and augmenting their physical skills. The fact he'd fallen into a different place had shaken him, but this? This was unreal. Maybe a handful and a half of people he'd run into his entire_ life_ could use ki as blatantly as he could, and of that handful, only three were his age. Of all the people he'd met,_ period_. Clearly, Hitomi had no problems assuming he was a ninja, which meant that his age wasn't even an issue.

What the_ hell_ was with this world?

His focus returned after a moment, and he noted the churning clouds overhead, and the bodies remaining on the ground of the field. Taking out a clean cloth, he rubbed his face for a moment, needing that time to get his thoughts back on track. "Huh. Well, this certainly is nothing like home," he commented with a sigh. "I get the feeling I'm going to be spending a while figuring out what all is different, while we get this place back up to running condition.

"Anyway, you saw me fight the other day. I don't really know what qualifies as what you think of as jutsu, but what I know was called martial arts and onmyōdō. You've seen the martial arts part," holding his hands down, palms flat to the earth of the untilled field, Ranma continued, "and this would be onmyōdō."

A pale blue limning of light washed down off Ranma's arms, pouring into the soil. He ignored Hitomi's gasp, and worked his ki into the ambient chi of the area, twisting lightly at the dragon lines that fed the field. With a push, he set the chi to cycling very closely to the ground, closing it off for a brief time from the rest of the nearby land. A little effort kept the outer lines from correcting the flow, as he set up a concentration of very heavy, very potent yin chi in the field. His vision being focused on the ground in front of him and his perception of natural energies, Ranma didn't see as the ground of the field darkened, becoming loamy and rich and damp. Nor did he note the bodies sinking rapidly into the ground, decaying at a speed that was frankly horrifying to witness, but that passed in moments, like a brief nightmare. In less than ten seconds, the entire process was finished, and with a deep breath, Ranma released his manipulation of the bounded field of chi, letting nature return its flows to normal. A glance to the field showed it undisturbed, looking quite rich, and ready for being tilled and planted.

His awareness returned fully to catch his companion muttering to herself, wide-eyed. "No hand seals. Never have I seen chakra like that before... and it did not feel the same." Shaking off her own fugue, Hitomi looked up at him, her eyes sharp and focused once more. "Yes," she murmured, "I think we have a great deal to talk about."

–

Tea steamed in the cups the two held, as the rain washed down outside the farm. It had began the previous afternoon around sunset, and had continued without pause for around an entire day. The memories of what had happened were fading quickly, along with the traces, thanks to the gentle storm that had settled over the area. Tomorrow, Ranma felt like he wouldn't be able to tell there had been so much death at the farm, if not for his own recollections.

Today, he had enjoyed putting such things out of his mind. Sure, the rain had played merry hell with his curse, but that wasn't a concern these days. It hadn't been, since nearly Jusendo in fact. Without all the misunderstandings about random accidents, shifting in uncomfortable situations, or worrying about embarrassment, the curse had become just a mild nuisance point. Not because of the gender issue, but more because it tended to be rather random and unpredictable. Sometimes he didn't notice the change until someone else brought it up, in fact.

Due to the rain, the two of them had focused where they could on repairing the inside of the farmhouse itself, and the nearby barn. They still got wet here and there, but it wasn't the potential bone-deep drenching it could have been. At the end of the day, it seemed natural to sit and talk, and over tea, the two discussed their worlds a bit more in depth. "So, unlike our chakra system of elements, your onmyōton—"

"Not release, way," Ranma corrected.

"Onmyōdō, then," Hitomi stated, before continuing. "This onmyōdō works with the yin and yang..._ aspects_, of ki and chi?"

Ranma nodded, pleased he'd explained things well enough to start. "Yes, though I'm familiar with a five-elements system or two, they're mostly philosophical, rather than practical like you've said. And as for ki... I think I see what the difference is – or isn't – between it and chakra."

"I do not understand. They sound so different, to me."

"It is and isn't," Ranma explained, years of working with his own ki and then his onmyōdō studies lending him a easy understanding and unique perspective to the topic. "You refer to will as spiritual energy, and raw, unfocused ki as physical energy. You use will to focus the ki. In this way, you combine the two components, and get what you call chakra. In my understanding, what I call ki is the same. I don't think of it as needing to be mixed, just focused."

Hitomi mulled that over, recalling her memories of the Suna ninja academy she'd briefly attended. She'd shown no aptitude for what Ranma had called the 'ninja arts', but had been an excellent academic. She understood the method of calling up and mixing chakra very well, as she'd been sealed sometime after learning it. That sudden and gaping lack in her essential self had been telling and rather disheartening. That was also why she had issues with what Ranma was explaining, and accepting it. If what he had described was correct, then her seal was doing something to her mind, rather than her body, since her physical capabilities had only grown – if marginally – as she aged. She was no brawler or capable fighter, but she was far from a plump example of some housemaids.

There was one test she could do, and it would be a simple thing. Biting her lip, the woman shook her head slightly. Nothing ventured... "I see. I do not think you wholly correct, though. But, as you demonstrated, you have a very good grasp of your art. What can you tell me about myself?"

Ranma blinked in surprise. That was an angle he wasn't expecting. "Um. You mean, your ki?"

"Yes. What can you tell me about it, compared to your own, or rather, someone else like myself?"

Understanding lit in the martial artist's eyes, before dimming in wariness. "Ah, well. There's a problem with that."

Hitomi blinked at the young man and how he suddenly looked away, seeming almost bashful. "Yes?"

Grimacing, Ranma explained, "You see, I can sense sources of ki and chi just fine. It's like looking at a bunch of candles behind a sheet, most of the time. Nothing like details, but I know something's there. Now, if I want to tell you how hot a candle flame is though..."

"...you must touch it," the maid finished quietly, nodding to herself. "I see. That is not a problem."

Ranma's head snapped around just as the faint rustle of cloth that had been recently buttoned around the woman's neck was loosened, letting the upper half of her dress fall about her waist. "Whoa, hang on," he squawked, looking back away fast enough to cause his neck to crackle in protest. Regardless of how quickly he had closed his eyes, like a camera, that brief moment had been enough to burn an image into his mind. Swallowing thickly, Ranma sputtered, "I just need contact with your back! That'll be fine!"

Shrugging, the woman turned so that her shoulders and the gentle lines of her back were clearly on display, pulling the forward portion of her now-loosened dress up to cover her breasts. "As you say, Saotome-dono."

Time skip of dooooooom. Yeah, I don't care.

The path to Akasanki-_gai_ wasn't very long or tedious, and in the part of Fire Country they were traveling, wasn't very dangerous either. In the three years Ranma found himself living on the Asano farmstead, the bandit raids had steadily decreased, in the area between the mountains and the walled trade city. At first, the bandits were warned off that particular area, where the less experienced types would often go to 'cut their teeth' on farmers and those brave enough to live outside the nearby city's walls. That warning had come from a black-haired man with a strange accent that most figured was a retired ninja, looking to settle. Sightings had decreased after a year, tapering off completely by the second. Word began to spread that the ninja was getting too wound up in his retirement, and not venturing out anymore.

That would have been good for business, so to speak, if it wasn't for the significantly more vicious redhead that had appeared to fill the position the other man had left. Tales of the carnage she'd left behind – an entire bandit camp slaughtered after they'd attacked one of the local farmer's caravans heading for Akasanki-_gai_ – spread like wildfire.

Bandits were a superstitious lot. Though the trade routes around Akasanki-_gai_ sometimes proved profitable beyond the effort to claim it, the few remaining bands decided to try their luck closer to the border, rather than between the rock – the mountains to the east – and a hard place, in the walled city. Tales of the Red Dragon and Horned Witch traveled far and fast.

"Three years," the redhead walking beside a rather demure young woman muttered. Her method of dress was strange for the land she lived in, consisting of a wide straw hat more commonly found in Rain above an ensemble of clothing more often found in the various Element Temples across the land. The shortened rust-red yukata that was tucked into the waist of a pair of hakama, in cloud-gray, and was left somewhat loose over the woman's sizable bust. That feature was obscured by a sarashi, the cotton wrap binding the redhead's breasts, hinting at an active lifestyle. Despite the hat, the woman's red hair was clear to note, in the long braid it was bound in that came to the small of her back. Tipping the straw hat up slightly, she peered to her companion, startling blue eyes reflecting the sky's hue above. "Has it really been that long?"

To her left and leading a single ox pulling a cart, the woman the question had been directed to nodded once, simply. "Yes. It has been three years since you came to Fire Country from the mountains." In contrast to the lithe redhead, she was more conservatively dressed, in a dark purple and wife sleeved yukata with a plum tree motif and sash in blue. Though she didn't appear as much of a farmer, those that noted her gait and demeanor shrugged off the inconsistency. The woman carried herself in the manner of a servant, possibly one for a noble or larger house. Her blue-black hair was kept in a complex wind at the back of her head, with her bangs resting above her brow and two loose forelocks drifting before her ears to lay across her collar. Of particular note, the dark-haired woman wore a strange headdress, which crossed above her ears and settled atop the tight knot of her hair, bearing a set of black, back-swept, lacquered antlers. Draped across the back of the servant's hair, the ornate headdress bore the rear remnant of a samurai's helmet, identifying its origin. The brief armored flange served to accent the woman's hair, strangely enough, and though peculiar, she wore it well.

The two women painted an odd picture, walking the central trade path between the mountains to the south of Akasanki-_gai_ and the city itself. Those that met them, however, said nothing about their odd appearance, knowing them well enough from local word of mouth, or personal experience. They waved, offered polite or in some cases, smiling greetings openly. Those gestures were returned, lazily in the redhead's case, politely in the servant's.

After all, it would have been rude not to pay some small respect to the Red Dragon and Horned Witch. Like the bandits, the people of the region had their own reasons to tell tales, and in counter to the fear and loathing of the human predators among them, the people found their eccentric champions quite pleasant and approachable.

"It's almost to the point that I'm afraid we're going to start getting asked for autographs," Ranma groused, finally extricating herself from a small mob of children that had poured out of a caravan, when someone had mentioned the pair a little too loudly. She had nearly lost her hat to that bunch. "Won't that be amusing."

"Truly, the life of a farmer is fraught with peril," Hitomi replied, the slight smile she bore barely noticeable if not for the amusement clear in her brown eyes. Ranma saw it clearly enough, and spared the other woman a huffed growl. Though she would still answer to that name from Ranma, it was never truly used anymore. Instead she had taken to using her birth name, the one she had been been called in her previous home, which had resulted in Ranma getting her the 'crown' she wore now. The cursed martial artist had said it was fitting, for someone with the name Kazuno.

Though she had been expecting some kind of retribution for the good-natured joke, Ranma found herself disappointed. Kazuno took an immediate liking to the antlered half-helmet, and began wearing it constantly. When she'd been asked about it later, the answer was direct and concise; "I will wear it, like my birth name, with pride."

Ranma had never commented about it since, other than when it was absent, or to inquire if it needed any repairs for the few panels of slatted armor it bore. It was the least she could do in the face of Kazuno's unquestioning acceptance of her curse and strange origins, and for the patient answers to all the questions she'd had about the world she found herself in. Without that help, she would never have understood the casual violence present beyond the farm, and the fact that human life in this new world was spent like cheap coin.

The martial artist still had some doubts that his world wasn't Yomi, but after three years, regardless, she'd come to call it home. For all the peace in the wild places she could find, the sheer amount of death and violence in the Element Countries, with their war-shinobi, Tailed Beasts, constant skirmishing, and shadow wars made her argument well enough. Ranma reasoned that the only excuse for a world so biased toward war and death, was that it was_ designed_ to be so. There were times Kazuno almost found herself believing those arguments, recalling her time in the depths of Wind Country where she had been born.

As for why Ranma had remained in her current form for so long... well. There had been a few hard truths learned in the last three years. One of those being that there were very few martial artists in the Element Countries. Instead, it seemed everyone with some skill or potential in the art went off to be either a ninja in service to a Hidden Village, a samurai sworn to some house or lord, or monk at one of the Element Temples.

Ninja seemed to be more akin to what she was used to working with in Nerima, though with the addition of powerful elemental and mystical skills better suited to her experience with magicians. It wasn't magic, of course, just ki utilized in ways she was unfamiliar with. She still had little real understanding of what made this so-called 'chakra' so much different than ki and chi, but it clearly behaved differently for ninja than her ki did despite being the same essential thing. For one, it seemed every ninja in the Element Countries had some affinity for one element or another, and that tuned their abilities greatly. Kazuno had been very confused when Ranma asked if that had to do with yin and yang, instead explaining a very familiar if different element system. Ranma had learned of a number of such systems in her martial arts training, but none of her previous knowledge matched that of this new world. More disturbing to Ranma was the fact that nearly anyone with skill in chakra was automatically assumed to be a ninja. Even cooks, postmen, and tailors.

Anything Goes, indeed.

Samurai were what the local rulers and cities called their militia, consisting of swordsmen that Ranma found resembled their namesake in only the barest sense – their usual weapons. In her opinion, there was little difference between the average bandit and a samurai. The two seemed to be defined by who they were currently working for, and how far out of line they got, while serving their lords. The general rule was that your local militia were samurai, while everyone else's were bandits.

The Temple monks were most similar to onmyōji, though their focus wasn't on the balance of the two aspects of chi, instead being on one single 'element'. How that achieved any kind of balance was beyond her understanding. Such biased practices, in her experience, only lead to great distortions of natural energies. That element system caused her some confusion as well. Considering lightning and electricity an element seemed strange, but despite her skepticism, the system these people had in place functioned. The one monk she'd talked with considered her views quaint and amusing, at least until she started inquiring on the aspects of yin and yang in chi. The drastic turn-around in the monk's demeanor had spoken clearly enough that her topic was taboo, and best left alone.

Ki was another point of contention in this new world, though it was present._ Very_ present. Instead, the people called their internal and external energies chakra. According to Kazuno, a person's chakra was a mixing of spiritual and physical energies, which to Ranma made some small sense. She came to understand that the spiritual aspect seemed to be more akin to willpower, determination, and experience. In simpler terms, mental fortitude. Physical energy was simplest to think of as raw ki, without focus. What ninja seemed to consider a mix of energies, Ranma understood to be discipline in focus. Without mental 'energy', one couldn't focus their ki. It just flowed without purpose or direction, achieving nothing.

Chi was also considered chakra, which had initially caused Ranma to wonder if there were specialists in this world that were adept at manipulating dragon lines and chi. Perhaps that was why the Element Temples didn't poison their environments with imbalance? Kazuno had looked at her strangely, explaining that_ no one_ could use natural chakra – the practice was legendary. Ranma demonstrating that she could do so resulted in the younger woman fainting on the spot. That had prompted a long explanation of her own talents, and what was commonly considered normal in this new world with the former Asano.

Which would have been a great thing to know, before rooting out the bandit population in the nearby area, causing all kinds of rumors and tales. What had seemed like a good idea in the beginning became a massive headache later, as hunter-ninja and Konoha patrols seemed to become a daily annoyance, looking for the 'black-haired missing ninja vigilante'. Because clearly, no one in this world who wasn't a ninja could defend themselves.

Another important lesson had come in her method of dealing with her enemies. Unlike Nerima, some Bureau cases, and bandits, putting down ninja temporarily just seemed to piss them off to the point that when they showed up again, they came with backup and enough firepower to level a city block. Ranma's male form now had a Bingo Book entry and bounty in four separate Countries. Including the one she was currently in.

That had been the deciding factor on her efforts to remain in a female form, as that notoriety came with a constant threat that could spill over on her only friend in this world, Kazuno. That was something Ranma found unacceptable, and would not tolerate. It also heralded a shift in her methods, which was why she currently wore a well-made katana slung across her hips parallel to the ground, her elbows resting back on the sheathe and hilt as she walked. As long as she only used the blade and strict physical arts – taijutsu it was called here – then she was just considered a very talented free samurai.

Samurai didn't get Bingo Book entries, or hunter-ninja patrols sent specifically to collect them. Those ninja with the music note had been damn persistent at that, despite this not even being their home country. Those ninja in particular Ranma hated dealing with, as to nearly a one, their ki had felt knotted, poisoned, and twisted.

"Saotome-dono?"

Ranma pulled herself from her introspection, musing on the last three years and all she'd learned at Kazuno's quiet inquiry. "What's up?"

The former maid took a moment as they walked to gather her thoughts before speaking. "I would like to apologize for my selfishness."

Unsure of what Kazuno meant, Ranma took the lead for their ox, pulling their cart to the side of the track and out of the way of other travelers on the trade route. "Alright, now what are you talking about? You're about the least selfish person I've ever met."

Clearly discomfited, Kazuno lowered her head and refused to meet the cursed woman's eyes. "In the three years you have been in this world, you have helped me with many things. You could have just left that first night, with a clear conscience knowing you already did enough, in saving me—"

"Kazuno, you know I—"

"Please let me finish, Saotome-dono," the uncharacteristically demure woman interrupted, her voice quiet but heavy with pent up emotion. She nearly screamed in frustration as a trio of ninja fell from the trees, silencing their conversation for the moment.

—

AN: If you can't figure out Kazuno's hairstyle, google "horizon kazuno" and you'll get it under the images heading.


	5. Chapter 5

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: And here we begin my forays into a different kind of story, that's stuck. This has shades of what I'm currently working on, along with Stress Fracture, but for the moment, it stands unique and singular

—

_** Pandemonium**_

_ August, 2009._

_ My name is Ranma. I'm turning 18 this year, and I'm a... I_ was_ a martial artist. This is... well I don't know what it is, but I know what it isn't. It isn't a diary. A journal, maybe. Eh, whatever._

_ Someone told me once, that when you're confused, and not sure what's going on, that writing it down would help. I don't know what it's supposed to do for me, but I've not got a lot of other options. Heck, I haven't got a lot else other than this book, and the pencil in my hand right now, so... here goes._

_ I guess it started with Jusendo. I figured, once everything ended there, that was it you know._ The End_. I offed – well sorta, being a Phoenix and all he got better – the bad guy, saved the girl, and that was that. Only it wasn't. Not at all. Something happened up there, or maybe even a while back, that changed it all. Hell, maybe it was all wrong to begin with. I just don't know. What I do know about are consequences. Repercussions, I guess. That's... for another day. Not today._

_ I look back now and realize how much of a kid I am. How little I actually paid attention to things beyond my nose. I didn't see stuff right in front of me. Don't know what's going on half the time. I blame Pops, but sometimes I know it's just me. Trying to get along, trying to just be a normal teenager, in a normal world, despite knowing damn well I'm anything but, and it's anything but normal. Sure I want to be the best, but doesn't everyone? Pick something, I mean, and let that be what defines them? Yeah. But there's more I guess, now. More I was blind to see, back then. Now, still, sometimes._

_ What I was blind to? Happosai and Cologne are the best examples. People... normal people don't live to be that old. Not without something else going on. Magic and ki, discipline and rituals. It all adds up._

_ It all adds up..._

(The penmanship is precise, like the one writing it paying too much attention to their actions. The characters are simple, lacking the usual shortcuts and signs of long-habit. -A.M.)

Ranma fidgeted where he sat, on the waxy, noisy sheet in the doctor's office. He felt lucky that things had worked out so that Tofu had come back to Nerima, just a few weeks after the mess that had been Jusendo. It was rare that anything got to him – outside of strange pressure points or Amazon tricks – so much that he couldn't just shrug it off, but when it did, he liked having someone he could trust to help.

Tofu was a big name, on a very, very short list.

"So, what's the verdict, doc?"

The well-mannered man looked up and spared his patient an assuring grin. "You know how this works, Ranma. I can't make a solid diagnosis without seeing both your forms." Indicating a nearby table and the glass of water on it, the man rose and moved behind a screen. "Let me know when you're ready."

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Ranma muttered his consent and crossed the room to the initiate the change. Most of the theatrics were just that, these recent days, habit that he – now she – was working out of slowly. It wasn't her fault that Genma was a jackass, or that her mother was... unbalanced sometimes. Though, once everything had settled down after saving her that day, Nodoka had been ecstatic to find she had a real bond to 'Ranko'.

Apparently, motherly instincts overrode the Contract, when reinforced by the option of an optional 'daughter'. They hadn't really talked about the agreement in depth yet, but the kind of look Nodoka got on her face whenever it was mentioned made Ranma worry less every day. Clearly, it bothered her as much as anyone else – though it confused the martial artist why her father seemed more hung up on it than anyone involved.

Shaking off her rambling thoughts, Ranma readjusted her brief hospital smock, wrinkling her nose cutely at how it left her back more or less exposed to the drafty air. She fidgeted anew at the reaction of the cold on her body, and the sharper sensations that the coarse cloth had on her responding skin. This was precisely why she wore silks so much – less friction, less distraction. Being a girl Ranma was getting used to, even enjoying at times not that she'd admit it. Having a girl's reactions... that was another story. "Ready, doc," she called out, preferring to get back to the exam, rather than mull over her body's quirks.

Tofu cleared the screen and paused, his customary smile going a bit brittle. "Ah, I see. I'll just need to do a few more tests, and then you can go."

"Eh?" Ranma blinked and tilted her head in confusion. That wasn't what she was expecting. He almost seemed... angry. "Somethin' up?"

Waving vaguely, the doctor shook his head, his typical expression returning. "No, nothing to concern yourself with, Ranma. Just noticed the change in your aura, you mentioned. It's much more concentrated in your female form."

Ranma considered that and shrugged. "Never noticed, really. Despite gettin' knocked into the pond each morning, I don't really fight as a girl much. Never enough to need the Soul of Ice anyway."

"I understand," Tofu replied, the light glancing from his glasses so that his eyes were obscured. "You said that the changes were most apparent with the Soul active. I just need you to begin the technique, while I inspect the flows of your ki."

She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about the doctor's aura... no, it wasn't his ki that was nagging at her senses, but something else. Something about him was causing her danger-sense to flare up, and more than anything, that settled Ranma's mind. There was something wrong with her. Tofu was safe, for crying out loud. "Right, here I go," she declared, more determined than ever to get whatever was going wrong, fixed.

As the Soul of Ice began, Ranma immediately noted the difference, much like Tofu had. The reason she was here to begin with, was that something had gone wrong with her ki she believed. The last time she'd used the Soul in a fight – against Ryoga, though it was more a spar than a fight – it hadn't worked right. She – then a he – hadn't felt the emotional detachment and muting the Soul always brought on. At least, not to the degree the martial artist had expected. Instead, the ki flows worked the way they always had, if admittedly stronger. The ki cycled, countering what was being woven into a modification of the_ Hiryuu Shoten Ha_, leaving Ranma confused that the emotions were still there.

Now, as a female and activating it, Ranma noted the severity of the difference. Her emotions weren't dampened at all, and her ki began whirling about her of its own accord. "What the heck?"

Tofu glanced up from the clipboard he was scratching notes on. "Hm? What is it? Describe it."

"It's not working – I mean it is, but," shaking her head to settle her thoughts, Ranma started over. "The Soul's active. I can tell. Ki flows around me are doin' what they do when it's working."

Nodding, the doctor sat, tucking his hands in his lap over the notes he was just taking. "Alright. What else can you tell me?"

Ranma probed herself with her ki, looking for things that were 'wrong'. It was the equivalent of glancing over someone being admitted to a hospital – you could get the obvious stuff, but it was beyond her to sense anything really detailed or specific. She'd done this as a male, but never thought to as a female – really, why would she? The curse wasn't affected, water still did its thing, and nothing appeared different in a mirror when she'd looked a few times. The quick and dirty scan left her shaken, this time, however. "What the...?"

"Ranma?"

"Aura's... wrong. Soul's up, sure, but it's... drawin' in ki? S'like someone took a spoon and stirred my ki-flows the wrong way-"

The sound of the clip on the doctor's board clacking loudly jerked Ranma from her introspection as well as broke her concentration, ending the Soul of Ice. "That's what I noted as well," Tofu commented as he stood. Blue eyes followed him, as he moved to place the tablet away in a drawer. "It seems your aura shifted somewhat, and that activating the Soul of Ice, as you call it, intensifies the effect. Perhaps the curse's magic has something to do with it, or any number of things that are all countering or reinforcing each other, but as a female, it's more apparent."

"My advice," Tofu continued, pulling his chair before a confused and unsure redhead. "Is to minimize your time as a female, until I contact some colleagues. Do you have a thermos?"

Faintly, Ranma nodded and idly pulled her hot-water thermos from her modest weapon-space. "Keep some on hand now, since I know how to do that."

Nodding, Tofu spared the girl a serious look. "Don't fight as a girl. Stay male as much as possible, and I'll come to sort this out soon. I need to contact a colleague to get some more data." Sparing the young woman before him a smile, he turned to collect his paperwork. "Get dressed, and head home. I'll be in touch."

Ranma did as she was asked, tipping a bit of heated water over her head to initiate the change first. Now male, Ranma tried to make sense over all the odd signals he'd noted, being a very good study in body language, as that was key to how his Art worked. It was why insults and goading were such big parts of the Saotome School – controlling your opponent's emotions let you control the flow of a fight. He'd trained for years, not really realizing it, to read and judge a person's body language as clear as if they'd spoken exactly what they were feeling, thinking, and planning. The problem was, Tofu had sent such unfamiliar signals that the martial artist started to think something was really wrong with himself.

Tofu felt... wrong, if there was a simple way to put it. Almost threatening, then clearly all but hostile once he'd changed gender. As he walked home to the Dojo, Ranma couldn't help but shake his head at the notions he was entertaining. "C'mon, it's_ Tofu_. No way. The doc's a good guy, and there ain't nothing to worry about from him. Just proof my aura's all messed up – readin' people wrong and getting all worked up for nothin'."

Still, the memory of the doctor's smile haunted him. It never reached the man's eyes.

–

"...yes. I'll need backup for this one." The man paused, glancing down at the folder on his desk. The label held a familiar name. "Yes, even I need help now and then. When will you arrive?"

The speaker on the other side of the phone droned on for a moment, as Tofu took up the large, packed file folder and pulled out three sheets from various points. Those were placed in a different folder, along with the notes from earlier. Once that was done, he started feeding the other contents to a paper shredder. "Sooner would be best," he commented. "We don't want this one to fully wake up."

Once the contents were destroyed, Tofu turned and started leafing through his appointment planner. "Tomorrow night? I suppose, if you can't get here sooner." He marked two appointments that would need to be rescheduled. "That'll give me an opportunity to sort out the family as well. No, this one isn't a good option for a simple disappearance. Call it too high-profile if you want an explanation," the doctor offered.

Taking the medical record folio in hand, Ono dropped it into a waste basket near his desk. "Alright. I'll fax over the address, and meet you there tomorrow at six."

–

For all his worry on catching some obscure martial arts virus, or some kind of crazy ki-flu, Ranma was feeling rather upbeat and energetic, the next day at school. Having taken Tofu's recommendation to heart, the young man stayed that way – male – as much as possible. Though it required two refills of his thermos, the day was spent with a minimum of time as a redhead, which suited him just fine.

Being a girl wasn't so bad, but he could do without the kinds of stares he got. Really, was every guy at Furinkan a hormonal jerk? Did they just not get that even when he was a she, nothing upstairs changed? Shuddering, Ranma finished packing away his books, before walking over to the class he knew Hinako was teaching.

Halfway there, he was stopped by a curious fiancee, in the flavor of Akane. "Do you have detention or something?"

Ranma glared for a second at the assumption, then laughed quietly. "Nah, just checkin' on Hinako for a minute. She's supposed to help with more tutoring soon, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to pay her back for it."

Akane nodded, falling into step beside the taller boy. "More fighting fish?"

"Was thinking a few boxes of pocky this time." Seeing Akane's skeptical look, the pigtailed boy made some rather large motions with his hands. "Big boxes."

Chuckling, Akane admitted that would be a better payment as well. Hinako's sweet tooth was legendary. "Alright then, I'll leave you to your flirting."

"Hey," Ranma barked, though the smile was apparent. "You know I only flirt with your sisters."

Rolling her eyes, Akane punched him in the arm lightly. Lightly for Ranma, anyway. "Jerk. See you at dinner, then."

Smiling as he waved, Ranma heaved a relieved sigh. Things had been better, after the botched wedding, odd as that seemed. Having come so close to being married, it made the two of them really put their feelings under a microscope. What became clear, was that neither of them really felt quite_ that_ way for the other, though Ranma admitted he really did love Akane.

Was it romantic love, or the kind love one had for a sister or cousin, or even best friend? That Ranma didn't know. He didn't have enough examples in his life to understand it. Akane had a better idea of her own feelings, and for now, he'd respect her need for time. It wasn't like he was in a hurry, or anything, and for now, he was alright with them going on as good friends. If in the future they were pressured into getting married, and actually following through with it, they decided it would probably work out eventually, but for the time being... they weren't going to think on it.

Nabiki had proven really helpful, if confusing in that help, undermining their father's plans. That was someone else Ranma was picking up mixed signals from, though this time he was more wary. One bout of being Nabiki's fiance had been rough. A second one may just kill him, where even Saffron had failed.

A box of pocky – small variety – got him in Hinako's good graces, and the two chatted amicably for a few minutes, until they hammered out a rough schedule and plan. He'd expected her to have some students for detention or something, but instead found her idle and perusing a manga. Ranma kicked himself for not asking Akane to wait for him since it only took a few minutes, but figured this would work out just as well. If one of the rivals or fiancees ambushed him on the way home, at least she'd make it back with her classwork intact.

It was a shame no one really seemed to believe him when he'd explained that one time that a yeti-bull-crane-eel had eaten his homework. Wasn't his fault they didn't know that jerk Taro.

–

Ranma wanted to tell Akane about his plans with Hinako before he forgot in the constant whirl of strangeness that defined his life, and so headed straight for the repaired Dojo once he arrived home. What he found there wasn't Akane, but-

"Old Perv? What are you doing out here?"

The younger martial artist nearly fell over his own feet as the tiny figure turned around slowly, wearing an outfit more familiar on Hikaru Gosunkugi. Candles held in place with a headband, a scribed scroll in one hand, and a stick of incense in the other, the old man stood over a summoning circle surrounded by smaller stubs of candles. Of course, the circle was painted on a throw cloth, and the candles were leftover tea lights, most likely so he could hide the evidence quickly and not make a mess, thereby avoiding annoying Kasumi.

The eldest Tendo's good graces weren't what Ranma had in mind, currently, however. "You better not be tryin' to summon another demon, old man. Don't you remember what happened last time?"

"Ranma m'boy," the aged grandmaster muttered, looking the young man up and down warily. "So... er. Why aren't you a girl?"

The cursed youth sighed, looking to the main house for a moment. "Did Cologne hit you on the head too hard again or somethin'?" Snorting, the young man started walking toward the back porch, intent on not missing dinner. "Whatever, you old pervert. Just clean this crap up when you're done – and no demons!"

He had taken three steps when the grandmaster yelled out something that actually got his attention. "Ranma Saotome, by the power of your true name I bind you to this circle and my will! I summon you!"

"Uh... I'm right here, y'know," Ranma muttered over his shoulder, turning to face the old man once more. "No need to summon... wait a sec." Stomping back toward the shriveled old man, Ranma kicked him aside, staring down at the circle intently. There in the middle was a picture of his girl-side, and a pair of underwear in pink he'd worn – once, and only once! – to appease his mother's sense of propriety while out with her as Ranko. The pieces connected in Ranma's mind fairly quickly after that.

Turning angrily on the old master, Ranma's eyes crossed as a strip of paper was slapped onto his forehead. Reaching up, he pulled it off, recognizing it as one of the blessed talismans they'd picked up to keep the odd ghost or demon away from the property, at new years. Glaring at the old man, Ranma crumpled the paper in his fist, before pounding it down on top of the bald master's head. "What are you tryin' to do, old freak?"

"I thought for sure... I mean I know what I sensed," Happosai muttered, absently pulling out his pipe to send the young man pounding on his head for attention flying out the Dojo's door, toward the house. Grumbling, the ancient master packed up his materials by simply bundling up the cloth, while bounding over the property wall. "Maybe I need to use black lace, rather than cotton..."

Dusting himself off, Ranma was at least thankful he'd missed the koi pond. "Man, what a freak," the pigtailed youth groused, tucking his disquiet over the incident into the back of his mind. He had to admit, though, with everything going on recently it made for a lot of strange. Enough to make up for how normal things had been, recently, Ranma realized with a slow grin. "Hmm. Good. Been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe now I can stop bein' so paranoid."

"Oh, I don't know about that," a voice chimed in, from just atop the wall nearby.

–

Thanks to being who he was, and having the family he did, Ranma had run across a broad spectrum of people in his life. Monks and shrine maidens, ghosts, demons, masters of obscure things it would take more than his own lifetime to learn, and fools who could do the impossible, just by will. The woman on the wall reminded him of another class of people he'd run across in his travels.

Demon hunters.

The woman, like himself, was Japanese by appearance, though the ensemble sent faint Amazon alarms going off in the martial artist's head. She was dressed in a form-fitting but simple dress, that ran to mid-thigh, with high slits for mobility. Above the hips, she had a pair of wickedly curved blades in simple leather sheathes, belted in place with a light harness of sorts that had straps to keep them from clattering about or getting in the way. Those straps circled her thighs, accenting the shortness of her dress well. Without the swords, the woman could have been going out on a date to a fancy restaurant.

"Ayaka, please," a familiar voice called out from the darkness. "Not like this."

"Tofu?" Ranma peered up at the man who lighted beside the unusually-dressed woman, "Didn't expect to see you till tomorrow at the soonest. Who's your friend?"

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, the doctor replied, "This... this is my associate Ayaka. She's more knowledgeable about your condition than I am, so it would be best if you two discussed things. On a walk. Yes, go for a walk and discuss things."

The sound of the porch door opening seemed to make the good doctor wilt in on himself slightly, and his companion continued their explanation. "Yeah. He's going to stay here and break the bad news to your family," she offered with a roll of her eyes.

Nabiki, not understanding the situation the way Ranma was beginning to, missed the young man's posture falling into something more familiar to his School of the Art. If she had noted it, the middle Tendo would have likely not made the quip she did, working she thought to both her and the troubled pair of Ranma and Akane's advantage. No one would have faulted her, since the Saotome branch's methods taught deception as much as adaptability, but the comment had the potential to spark more trouble than it had to avoid. "Hey, buddy-boy. This another fiancee?"

Ayaka's face twisted into a mask of disgust, while her hand strayed to the hilt of a blade. She spit on the ground, before speaking, "Not a chance, kid. Now all you run along with Tofu while I deal with this little problem."

"So your doctor friend here comes to house calls with swords," Ranma broke in, breaking the fragile tableau easily. "Not that I haven't seen demon hunters before. The old letch just tried to summon me with a circle not five minutes ago, and when I was in the clinic, you were actin' odd," the young man reasoned out loud, his mind reaching a conclusion easy enough. "Why didn't you just say something, Tofu. I trusted you."

"Oh for the love of," the woman named Ayaka muttered, before sparing the doctor beside her a terse look. "Whatever, the kid's figured it out so no more pussy-footing around." Drawing a blade and pointing it at the pigtailed youth, she continued, "Boy over there's a demon – or will be soon. He's been 'infected' says Tofu, and it's changing him. My family's been charged for generations by the Imperial line to destroy demons for the peace of Japan." Returning her gaze to the baffled crowd that had gathered, including both elder Saotomes, all three Tendo sisters, and one weeping Tendo patriarch, the woman stalled slightly, seeing only mild curiosity there instead of shock or horror. "Wha-what?"

"It would explain a lot," Kasumi politely replied into the uncomfortable silence. "I mean, he's so rigidly bound to his agreements. I hear demons are very literal with their promises."

"What? I ain't no..."

Genma rubbed at his chin lightly. "Perhaps that one engagement to that blue-skinned man wasn't such a good idea. He did mention needing to adjust the boy somehow... But that banquet," he trailed off, as memories of the biggest feast he'd ever seen replaced his current train of thought – unfortunately obscuring the awareness of his wife glaring daggers at him.

"Huh? What'd you do to me, stupid old..."

From Genma's other side – the one not occupied by steadily increasing homicidal intent – Soun whined into his sleeve, "Oooh, my poor little girl. Doomed to a life of being ravaged by a hentai demon!"

"Where do you get off calling me that, you...!"

Folding her arms before her, Akane leveled a glare at the young man. "I always knew you cheated that first time!" The two blinked at each other a moment, before Akane sheepishly laughed. "Er, sorry. Got caught up in the moment, there."

"Not a problem..."

"So, you're an agent of hell now?" Nabiki rolled her eyes, before leveling a droll glare at the woman on the wall. "Please. Buddy-boy here's about as evil as my sock. I think you've got your wires crossed – but by all means, indulge in some property damage while you're here." The shark-like grin she leveled at the two spoke volumes about her intent, backed up by her words a moment later. "I'll be sure to give you 'doctor's' rates, for the repair bill in fact."

"It ain't gonna get to that..."

Tofu cleared his throat, bringing the muttering to a close. "I wasn't mistaken when I called Ayaka for help. Ranma's aura is clearly shifting into the demonic, which means his soul is changing – and that is permanent. I don't know if it's a result of the things that he went through in Jusendo, or through his life, or just the act of a greater demonic force against him. The bottom line is, and I'm sorry to be the one to say this, but isn't something that can be fixed... and there's only one solution."

Eyes hard, Ranma tilted his neck sharply to loosen it, the cracking of joints loud in the sudden silence. "So. Doctor's orders, are to lay down and die, huh?"

"I'm sorry, Ranma, but-"

"Nah, you're not sorry," the martial artist quipped, cutting the tired-looking man off. The lightness of his voice was countered by the stark contrast of his tensed muscles. "But you're gonna be."

Apparently tired of all the talk, Ayaka lunged for the boy with one sword drawn and death in her eyes. To many of those present, the act had been little more than a blur – a hint of motion, and the absence of the woman from where she'd stood. To Ranma, however, Ayaka would have saved herself the trouble by just walking up to him. Much like a previous Amazon who underestimated him, Ranma simply kicked the sword up and out of her hand, much to the woman's shock. "What, you expect me to let you just come up over here and lop off my head? Feh, demon hunters," he quipped, dropping his weight back onto the same foot that removed the woman's weapon. "Don't make 'em like they used to."

From that point on, however, things got interesting. Discarding her surprise at the boy's skill, Ayaka spun on the foot she'd landed on, lashing out with a vicious kick that should have sent the boy rocketing into the wall a few dozen feet away. Ranma simply swayed out of the way, flowing like water around the woman's attack. Again and again, be it from foot or fist, the woman failed to make contact, and the frustration was beginning to tell on her. "As good as he warned," she remarked, flipping back and out of range for a moment, to regain her wind. "I wasn't thinking he was serious. Yeah, we definitely can't let you live."

"Now hold on a minute-" Akane tried to break in, only to cringe and duck at the loud report that echoed around the courtyard.

Ranma's face was tilted up and at an angle, facing the sky, while one storm-gray eye regarded the demon hunter with nothing but cold calculation. As his head tilted back down so he faced the woman directly, the line cut across his cheek began to bleed slowly. "Guns, huh? Not too traditional are ya?"

Ayaka didn't let the sudden spike of fear show in her face. This boy – who wasn't even using demonic power! – had all-but dodged a bullet. She'd masked the act of reaching for the gun strapped onto her back with her disengage, but the speed of her draw and fire should have meant his death. Devoted to her attack now, she took up an unfamiliar posture – gun-wielding hand up at shoulder level, pointed at a low but shallow angle with the line of her vision, while her off-hand drew the matching sword to the one on the ground. That blade was flipped into a reverse hold, then brought up while her stance loosely mimicked that of a boxer.

Analyzing the stance, Ranma assumed that the woman had trained to use the gun as part of her form. This would complicate things. Not wanting to deal with her once she'd recovered her balance fully, he rushed the demon hunter with a feinted kick, that spun into a low backfist to the gut.

He had to sacrifice his balance and roll to avoid getting his hand removed, as she brought the sword up for an underhanded block. That turned into a hurried spin and kip-up as the gun rang out again, kicking up a cloud of displaced dirt and grass where his head had been. As he moved to reengage the woman, hopefully too close for her to use her weapon, Ranma's danger-sense screamed through him. Stepping close and pulling the woman's weapon down, he winced hard as the report rang out at point-blank range, his hip screaming at him.

Ayaka smirked as blood began soaking the black silk pants the youth wore. "Tofu was right. Stupidly noble."

Ranma glanced behind him, where the woman's shot would have gone had he not taken the hit himself. His mother looked back, wide-eyed and restrained by Genma's large arms.

"Ayaka!" Tofu's face was a study of outrage. "That's going too far!"

The flat glare the woman turned on the doctor stalled his rage. "Then stop standing there, and do your sworn duty. Help me kill this monster."

Cries from the gathered for the woman to stop were ignored of course, and it was all that Soun and Genma could do to keep the girls from joining the melee. Unlike them, it wasn't anger or sadness that settled in Ranma's gut when the man donned a pair of reinforced gloves, but cold determination. This man, a man he'd trusted – that the Tendos trusted! – brought this woman here. Someone that had aimed a gun at his mother. To say Tofu's name went on another list from the one he'd recently been on would be an understatement, but this Ayaka chick? "Lady. You ain't walking out of here."

Her response was to begin the deadly weave of gun and sword again, pushing Ranma to defend not just himself but his family and the Tendos, while Tofu joined, adding his pressure-point attacks aided by the reinforced gloves. Having never been able to detect the man before for whatever reason, Ranma found his attention split heavily, as all his mundane senses worked to track Tofu, while he relied on ki for Ayaka.

Allowing the woman's blade to pass over his head, Ranma let himself fully focus on his opponents. Ayaka's style seemed clear, once she had a gun in hand. He was confused initially, when her form seemed lacking, like she was missing something. That something roared over his head, as a forearm block broke her aim. He paid for it as Tofu struck at his side, numbness spreading along his left flank. Rolling away from Ayaka while maneuvering Tofu between the demon hunter and his family, Ranma countered the Shiatsu strike by using his own limited knowledge of pressure points. The gunshot earlier was slowing him down, though, and against two skilled opponents, he was beginning to worry. Rolling away from another boxed-in position, his escape was short-lived, as Tofu moved to flank him once more while Ayaka closed in to press her attack again.

Feeling less secure in his defenses and still wary, Ranma began to feel out those of his sudden opponents. Behind her gun, Ayaka worked her defense by using the sword to deflect attacks, clearly used being aggressive even when guarding herself against her foes. Each block was razor-edged, or backed by a spin that would bring her gun back to bear quickly for another shot. He wondered at the capacity of her gun's clip, till he noted during one the woman's spinning disengages how she dropped and reloaded another from a supply on the backside of a sword sheathe.

Tofu's style was heavily focused on Shiatsu to disable, counter, and deflect, made clear every time Ranma tried to respond the man's attacks, or exploit a break in his guard. Most of those holes were feints, attempts to draw Ranma's arms into reach so that the man could neutralize part of Ranma's arsenal. Attacks were made while his attention was elsewhere, usually deflecting more shots fired near the Saotomes or Tendos, or at himself. He was beginning to see through the man's actions to the roots of his style and form, when the battle drastically changed.

Two shots blazed past Ranma; one he took as a grazing hit along his shoulder to keep Tofu in his vision, while the other rebounded off the rock wall. The sound of a ricochet made his stomach turn to ice.

"Auntie!"

"Mrs. Saotome!"

Woodenly, Ranma ignored the melee for a critical moment to turn his head. There, cradled in Genma's arms lay his mother, blood welling from a wound across her temple as the man gently tried to check her pulse. His distraction cost him, as the young man curved around a sword-slash to his gut that he couldn't wholly dodge.

_"Ranma!"_

Akane's strident scream of his name was the last thing Ranma recalled, before the force of the blow and his partial dodge threw him into the Tendo's koi pond.

–

He was being sloppy. Treating Tofu and that Ayaka woman like the other fighters in Nerima and abroad. Treating them like martial artists, not the killers they'd proclaimed themselves to be. He'd discarded the gun as a real threat, till he'd seen it pointed at the Tendos; at his family. The few hits he'd taken didn't mean anything – Ranma knew he'd bounced back from worse. Sword cuts, having knives stabbed through muscle and bone, fire, ice, and enough raw ki to flatten a city block.

A couple of demon hunters, even if one had been a trusted friend he'd asked for help not a day before, shouldn't have been a problem. Or even a challenge.

In that moment where the familiar shift of the curse washed over him, Ranma knew that it wasn't about skill or power, but emotion. He'd –_ she'd_ – been off-center since the changes had begun. Emotions were running higher, reactions stronger. In a moment of clarity something became clear, as the water closed over her. She was glad that the situation between herself and Akane had gotten better, stabilized. It would have been bad, had things exploded between them with her emotions being so hard to control, with the loss of the Soul's calming influence.

_Demon._

The idea, not the word, caused a ripple to follow the change. Was that what this feeling was? Some supposed demonic influence? Like she didn't have enough to worry about already. Rather than turn her ki against itself as she'd been doing since the slight changes and disturbing wrongness had begun, Ranma embraced it – fed it, and wound it about herself like some kind of oily cloak. Her aura responded almost hungrily, and she could feel the reaction cascade beyond her control suddenly. Rather than feed slowly off her own ki, it started to spiral outward, drawing life and energy from everything around her. Koi in the pond grew sluggish and died, while the water lost whatever ambient, natural ki it held.

Maybe they were right, Ranma admitted as the sudden spike of energy died off, along with the agonizing pain that had wracked her from the stomach wound. A wound she knew was no longer there. Maybe she was a demon, and that's what all this had been about. Her changing, caused by something in the past. Ranma laughed, the bubbles from the fleeing air reflecting the last of the sunset from above the small pond. Jusenkyo, the Phoenix Pill, her training, Happosai, ki, magic, Jusendo... who knew what would happen to someone, exposed to all that? Maybe she did, now.

Whatever. She was the heir to the Anything Goes School. Adaptation, she could do. Adapt or die? Easy question to answer.

–

It was quickly becoming clear that the demon hunters were going to have to deal with the combined Tendo and Saotome families as well, after the glancing hit to Nodoka and Ranma's bloody disappearance into the koi pond. Tofu looked like all he wanted to do was curl up under a rock, with the look Kasumi was sending him, much less the other Tendo girls, while Ayaka simply retrieved her weapons and stalked closer to the koi pond to ensure the kill.

She paused, then turned to shout a warning as the entire pond shot upward in a fountain of steam, revealing a very different, very pissed off Ranma Saotome.

Blue eyes, red hair, and a furious gritting of teeth met the view of those nearby, as the petite form stalked out of the falling mist she'd caused. The red silks that had made up the martial artist's jacket were ripped below the ribs, where Ayaka had scored her hit, while below that the black pants that usually made up the rest of the cursed-boy's ensemble were barely enough to maintain any sense of decency. The reason was clear, as Ranma stalked forward, her form seeming to shift and flux constantly, until it came to a kind of equilibrium. Before it had, there was a distinct change in the legs, looking more like an animals with how the joints were settled. Claws became fingers, then shifted in a haze between each extreme before settling into slightly elongated nails. Her jaw cracked and gaped, accommodating a massive maw of razor-sharp teeth before the redhead seemed to yawn, the impressive display of fangs reduced to a more modest sharpening of her own mostly-normal smirk.

For a moment it seemed Ranma was back to herself, though the illusion was short-lived. That illusion was shattered when a shudder ran along her slight form, as she curled in on herself for a moment, before screaming as her arms were thrown back with the force of it. A spray of blood and the sound of ripping silk preceded the wet snap and crackle of bones shifting and reforming, while between them leathery membranes snapped like flags in a stiff wind. As the leathern pinions flexed behind her, Ranma's glare lit nearly incandescent as she fixed it on the woman before her, who was already reaching for her weapons.

"Round two," the redhead growled, before blurring and barreling into the woman, sending them both through the rock wall nearby and into the street.

–

"That... that was Ranma?"

Tofu looked up at Kasumi's unsteady question, his eyes haunted. "This wasn't how things were supposed to go..."

Long-passed her crush from years before, Akane had no problem grabbing the doctor's collar, bringing him down to her level. "You bastard! I don't care what you think Ranma is, do you think we'll let you get away with this?"

Grimacing, the bespectacled man took the young woman's wrist between two fingers for a moment, causing her hand to go numb. "You don't understand-"

"Then make us understand." Nabiki's tone was icy, but she backed it up well enough. Never being interested in the Art like Akane or Ranma, Nabiki was however an opportunist. So, when Ayaka's gun was knocked out of her hand by Ranma's charge, the middle Tendo wasted no time in picking it up, in case she had to defend her family. Being an opportunist left more open doors than being a martial artist. Seeing the armed Tendo bearing down on him with a steady hand, the older man relaxed, putting his hands up slightly. "Go on, Ono. Tell us."

Seemingly resigned already to do just that, Tofu accepted the order. As he slumped to the ground and pulled off a glove, he sighed. "There have always been demons. Or, to be blunt, things beyond human.

"Humans often don't care, not about the source of the difference – the difference is enough. Something strange. Something frightening... the nature of things doesn't matter so much, as our perceptions. And so, there are demons."

Nabiki's hand shifted, and the distinct click of a safety being slid from on, to off and back again was clear. "That's very philosophical and all, but what the hell has that to do with Ranma?"

Tofu met the girl's eyes directly as he spoke. "We don't know why they appear. Why sometimes people change. Some think it's all just an illusion, when people become demons – that they always were that way, hiding, waiting to strike. Manipulating others from the cover of their loved one's form." Akane snorted, her opinion on Ranma doing such a thing clear. Continuing, Tofu ignored her, "Some think that there are other worlds, beside this one. Cut away by some barrier, and that's where demons come from. Slipping through the cracks, slipping inside people and things."

"What do you believe, doctor?"

Laughing quietly, Tofu slid his glasses back in place slowly. "Me? I suppose neither of those. Demons are just like humans, only different, like I said." Removing his other glove, the bespectacled man leaned back against the Dojo, ignoring the weapon trained on him by Nabiki, and the wary glance of Genma. "They aren't so different, really. They feel, they have desires, they protect. They can be loyal and honorable, or vicious killers, just like us. Humans and demons have existed side by side since there was memory. Maybe they're just different sides of a coin.

"But make no mistake, they are dangerous," the doctor warned, reaching up to rub idly at the bridge of his nose. "Their aura is what sets them apart. Their ki, you could say. Something about it works differently than what's natural, the kinds that surround things of this world alone. They stop being able to make their own, and start drawing in the life they need from around them. Simple demons don't understand it, and go berserk, killing and feeding on everything and everyone around them."

The man laughed mirthlessly at the dawning realizations on the faces before him. "Ranma won't do that. What a massacre that would be, with his appetite!"

Shuddering, Akane looked away. "Don't make jokes like that. It's morbid."

"Sorry," Tofu offered, sounding anything but sincere. "But no, Ranma's too in-tune with his ki and how it works. But he will still hunger, because now that this world rejects him. He cannot make his own. He will hunger. He will feed. He will kill."

Akane's question was quiet. "What made Ranma... what changed him."

"Could have been the Neko-ken. Humans becoming demons from such things are well noted." No one paid attention to Genma's sudden bout of coughing. "It could have been Jusenkyo. Changing magics are terrible, risky things. It could have been anything Ranma's done, come in contact with, or risked. Even fighting as hard as he does could do it, according to what we know. Anything that defies the natural has a risk of causing that taint to spread. Does it always? Of course not. But this is Ranma, we're talking about.

"I don't think any one thing caused it, but more that it was due to everything, perhaps. Jusendo seemed to have been the keystone, however. Perhaps the changing waters became the catalyst." Shrugging finally, the doctor heaved another sigh. "We'll never know. There's no way to tell, and after tonight, no way to find out. Ranma has to leave."

For the first time since the fighting began, Genma spoke. "You set this up, to let him escape."

Tofu nodded silently. "He can't know. If he wants to survive, he'll have to leave, thinking he's doing the right thing. That – his honor and duty – will keep him away, and safe. It was only luck that brought me back here, in time to catch this before someone else did, but the cost was the loss of his ties here. Something he can't have if he wants to survive."

Clearly conflicted, Akane looked between the two men, "Why did you bring that woman, then? Why bring someone who could hurt or kill him when you're trying to help?"

"I called Ayaka because I had to. I called Ayaka, because I knew she wouldn't be enough."

–

"Heh," the demon hunter muttered, before spitting bloodily. "So you woke up. Told that spineless sap we should have done you quick, but does he listen? Nooo," she continued to complain, in such a way that Ranma couldn't tell if it was at her, or Tofu, or the world in general. "Damned doctors. Just too bad we need them to track freaks like you down easier."

Ranma paced the distance she was keeping from the woman with measured steps, her bare feet whispering against the pavement. More loudly, her wings tested the air idly, as if moving of their own accord at times. The circular path she walked kept the woman at its center wary, watching and adjusting her position constantly

"I suppose that I can't argue the point," Ranma muttered, though it was loud enough to carry. "Pretty clear now you two were right. I guess Tofu saw this coming, somehow."

Ayaka laughed, face screwed up in distaste. "Don't fish for information with me, freak. I'm not the type," emphasizing her point, the woman tapped out two shots from another pistol, eyes narrowing at the results.

Having found the measure of the demon hunter's style, Ranma easily ducked and sidestepped the two bullets, her wings folding back severely to lessen their profile and her own by reflex. As the reports rang out down the street, Ranma could hear people making alarmed noises at what they saw, and more than a few calls for the police to be alerted – which suited her fine. The grin she leveled at the wary hunter never reached her eyes, and seemed to contain more teeth than should have been possible. "A fighter. Sure, I respect that."

"Then stop screwing around, an-" that was as far as the woman got, before she had to duck and twist to keep her head attached, as the demon's fist parted the air with an audible shearing. Eyes wide and breath coming in leaping gasps from her surprise, the demon hunter worked to keep the newly-Awakened demon in her sight.

It shouldn't be possible, Ayaka thought to herself as she rolled away from an axe kick that would have probably caved in her rib cage after obliterating her collarbone, only to catch a spinning heel to the gut. Retching hollowly, she suddenly forgot about the pain in her stomach, as a falling elbow took her across the temple, throwing her to the ground in a groaning heap.

'New' demons shouldn't be this strong, this fast, a stubbornly persistent part of her mind continued to prattle on. Sure, the boy had been skilled before the change, but this kind of increase... it should have been impossible. The change from Awakening should have thrown him into chaos, with the new form, reflexes, senses – not made him a better martial artist! Something about the whole thing wasn't right, Ayaka realized.

She considered her luck mixed, as the demon kicked her off the ground where she'd fallen, giving her some 'help' back onto her feet. The impact with the wall that let her slide to them, however, she could have done without. Getting her head on strait, Ayaka reminded herself that she'd been born to kill things just like this – she wouldn't lose here.

"Got your head back in the fight?" Ranma taunted, noting the woman wasn't just laying around like a punching bag with its tether cut anymore. Maybe she'd come on too strong out of the corner, the redhead mused. The problem was that the whole thing stunk – badly – and she wanted it over with so she could get answers. Answers that wouldn't be coming from the woman before her, or the betrayer doctor, the redhead admitted to herself. No... she'd need to find others, for what she needed to know, but that would take time, and a low profile – two things she didn't have at the moment. Fighting in the street with wings out behind her like banners screaming "Demon here!" while laying a classic beat-down on some wannabe demon hunter, really did nothing for her. Ranma realized there wasn't any time left to fight with the woman, despite her new-found wind. This had to end.

Fast shifted into an impossible blur, as the demonic redhead left pockmarks in the pavement behind her, with the force of her feet hitting the ground. Ayaka had just enough time to curse, before the wall where her head had been exploded into debris and crushed mortar. Instinct and long practice let her avoid the body-blow that followed, but her luck ended after that, as a second high strike – was that a foot or fist? She couldn't tell – pulverized her shoulder and left it feeling like so much shattered rock, grinding under her skin. Mercifully the pain hadn't come yet, since she doubted there was time for it with this opponent.

Rolling to the side despite her disorientation and the further damage it would do, she slapped her palm down on a weapon and come up with it to bear. As she stared down the iron sights of her pistol into a slightly elongated pupil not three meters away, Ayaka began to realize just how bad this was going. Tofu should have called for a full hunter team, not just backup. "How... how the fuck can you do this? That body, you're a martial artist. How the fuck can you fight this well after the change?"

Ayaka couldn't so much see as feel the slow smile, below that steady, unblinking eye – steadier than her hand, anyway. "That... is a secret."

The shot rang, and the muzzle barked fire but there was no petite redheaded demon for the bullet to meet. There was only surprise in Ayaka's widened eyes, as almost gently, Ranma cradled the woman's chin in her hand, from where she'd moved. There behind the bedraggled and bleeding hunter, the tiny form of Ranma Saotome stood. One arm was wrapped around the wide-eyed woman's shoulders, as if holding her in an impromptu embrace, while the other had come to rest with the palm against the peak of the woman's chin. There was a whisper, and a responding, muffled negative from the hunter, before Ranma nodded once, her forehead leaning against the taller woman's neck, her breasts pressed against her back to complete the mirage of sudden intimacy. The afterimage from her rapid relocation faded, just as there was a sudden jerk and crackle from the entwined pair, leaving the surreal image complete.

Ranma dropped the woman's body, closing her eyes slowly, as she considered what she had to do. "Gotta get away," she muttered, her lips peeling back in a pained grimace, at what that meant. How final it would have to be. "God... why now? Why?! Things were just gettin' better, finally."

Fed up, furious, and having no one left to ask, she roared her question to the skies. "What the fuck is your problem with me?! Why can't you leave me the hell alone?!"

Whatever god or goddess she'd aimed the question at, had no intention on answering it seemed. Tears sliding down her face from a combination of pain, shame, anger, and loss, Ranma lunged for a nearby roof. Lighting, she recalled her wings, and only barely restrained herself from reaching back to rip the pinions out from the root.

"One thing at a time," she snarled unsteadily, turning toward the south, as she leapt from roof to roof, little more than a blur.

–

_ September, 2009._

_ Three months since leaving Nerima. One, since my last entry. I kinda suck at this journal thing, huh?_

_ Well, I'm back. To writing, I mean. I didn't go anywhere but... why the hell am I trying to explain this to myself? I must be going nuts. So, that journal idea? Not something I recall a lot, so entries may be spotty. Eh, whatever._

_ Things are going ok. I suppose it could be worse. I mean, really._

_ I've got a job – two really if I think about it – a place to stay, some people I can call friends with a little bit of a stretch, hell I'm even going to school again..._

_ Yeah. Paranoia setting in. Ranma Saotome doesn't get whole months of nothing bad happening. Hell, I don't usually get a day without some jackass or freak showing up. But I'm not in Nerima now. Maybe that's got something to do with it. Who knows?_

_ Speaking of jobs, this contract work I got approached for recently's been on my mind. It's not like I need an excuse to go out and take down demons in the area – honestly, it's all self-preservation. The less of that kind of attention where I'm at, the less hunters to deal with later. Ironic, yeah? Me out there taking out my own kind, supposedly... eh. I don't see it like that. I'm not like them. Not a monster. I'm not._

I'm Not.

_ Anyway... the problem with it isn't so much what I'm doing, but how. My contact always knows where they'll be. It's getting to the point where I can tell, too, but this is starting to smell like either a setup, or something else._

_ Next time I see her, I'm going to find out._

_ Why do I think it's a setup? Both times, I just made it out of the area before some cheerleading troupe packing enough magical firepower to level a city shows up and starts monologuing. Yeah, I know who the Senshi are, but damn. Really? I thought that was... well some kinda rumor to dis the local heroes. Someone's always got it out for the good guys – I mean look at how Ryoga and me were! But yeah. It's true. Too bad I can't go collect on that bet with Akane about if the rumor around those speeches was truth or not..._

_ So I get the hell out, because I don't wanna get into a scrap with another branch of demon hunters – two families pissed at me is enough, thanks! – and this lot with the power to back it up. Hey, I'd still wipe the floor with them, but why make enemies for no reason? But, this is why I'm wary, and going to find out more about my mysterious benefactor. That's two out of two jobs that ended up with me just getting out before the skirt-squad arrived._

_ Too bad, really. I kinda like Setsuna. Lady's got a wicked sense of humor, and I've got a hunch she can fight. Too bad it'd never work out – she's kinda hot._

(Dating matches the entry, as well as the referenced indexes of paradimensional events, resulting in non-native entity incursions. Prior scanner readings verified by the MC all match. It can be inferred this Ranma Saotome was responsible for the later preemptive strikes as well. -A.M.)

–

Stretching catlike with a cavernous yawn despite it being just passed midday, Ranma Saotome adjusted her earphones, drowning out the organic buzz of the Roppongi bar she was currently seated in with music from the small MP3 player sitting on the table before her. The motion reflected in a nearby mirror, and the redheaded young woman spared her image a wry look.

The last three months had been a time of upheaval in her suddenly hectic life, and the young woman she saw looking back at her reflected that idea easily. Gone were the Chinese silks – understatement, really, considering there was little left of them after_ that_ night – and in their place a button-down shirt, girl's school uniform skirt, and zipped hoodie rested. Though they weren't really to her taste, the clothes were simple, functional, and managed to do something vital to her current situation.

They weren't the sort of thing Ranma would wear.

Much of her current life was defined by that simple idea, all for the purpose of protecting the family she left behind, by disappearing off the map. Ranma didn't know how much of what had been said between herself and Ayaka had been truth or just battle-chatter, but she wasn't going to risk them, over her own stubbornness and refusal to accept the situation. The woman had sealed her fate by threatening her family. Ranma wouldn't let it come to that.

She still didn't accept the situation, despite three months of dealing with it, however. Somewhere, there was a cure – not just for the curse, but for the demonic taint she carried. Until she found it, Ranma resisted the siren-call to go 'home', knowing that if she did, there would be hunters waiting to spring their trap. Two more incidents involving her sloppiness in maintaining her cover had proven that Ayaka was – if anything – conservative when it came to how demon hunters behaved. She still had the residual aches from being impaled on a sword and blasted into a crater from the last two families she'd tripped on, Ranma reminded herself. Collateral damage had never been a real concern in Nerima, but these people made even Ryoga look tame in comparison.

Besides, she refused to let the battle come back home, after what had happened to her mother. Nodoka had made a full recovery... but the fact remained, she might_ not_ have.

Clothes weren't the only change, of course. Spending most of her time as a girl had been a gamble, but it had paid off. Most of the information she'd gleaned spying on and eavesdropping on the few hunter groups she'd ran afoul of and didn't have to fight pointed to her birth form being the 'Ranma' that was to be targeted. What confused the martial artist was that her cursed form wasn't mentioned, despite all that had happened during the night of her departure from Nerima.

Somewhat naïve and socially inept she may be, Ranma wasn't an idiot. Something was wrong with that, but in her current situation, there wasn't much she could do about it, other than take it as it was – a silver lining in a rather stormy sky.

She waved at the bar manager as he motioned to the clock, then held up his hand, four fingers extended. "Shift starts in four hours," she murmured, sighing quietly. "Wonder if I'll have time to finish my math homework."

School was a necessary part of her camouflage, despite how annoying it was to not only go back to another school as a stranger, but do so as a girl. "Though," she admitted darkly, "it may not matter much soon, with how things were working out." She was after all, hanging out in a bar, on a school day, skipping class.

The reason why, Ranma noted with a slight, devious smile, just walked in the door. She didn't see her, so much as_ felt_ her, through the new senses that came along with the unwelcome change she'd gone through. Despite that, Ranma's eyes snapped to the woman, picking her out easily in the crowd due to a number of factors. For one, the tall, dusky-skinned woman cut a rather striking figure in her suit jacket and narrow skirt – not the kind of attire that was worn often by those that frequented this part of town. The emerald-green hair and deep red eyes didn't lessen the effect, setting the woman apart further, though Ranma found it odd to imagine the woman with anything but those two features, the one time she'd tried to reason out if they were fake or not. Nothing else just seemed to fit.

Above and beyond it all, however, were two things Ranma felt fairly certain only she herself would notice about the woman, out of all those in the bar. Where most people in that kind of suit moved with a self-aware sense of personal worth, there was no substitute for the real thing – confidence and ability. This woman had them, and knew it, and it came through in her walk. "More of a sway," Ranma corrected herself, quietly enjoying the display.

The other point was less easy to put to words, as the redheaded martial artist didn't have words for it. It was like a low sound, or faint scent, or subtle glow, or even the shift of ki from something moving it though their body – but none of those, in actuality. There was no word for the new sense she had that the woman registered on, but it was definitely there, clear and resonant, for lack of a better way to describe it. She imagined that had she been blind, deaf, and with her nose plugged, she could still zero in on the woman from across the room with no trouble at all.

As she had the first time she'd met the woman, Ranma stifled the sudden spike of attraction that surged through her system. Oh yes, the woman was attractive, and then some. Having been forced to restrain herself for years from even so much as reacting to the opposite sex, Ranma was having more than a little trouble recently, now that all bets were off. Cursing her traitorous libido, she recalled something she wanted to try, at their next meeting before being seen, and focused on that rather than the appealing view of skin, afforded by the woman's skirt. Concentrating a moment, while drawing the newspaper she's been reading earlier up before her, Ranma tucked her aura about herself tightly, fading from perception like morning mist.

She noted the change in her benefactor's gait immediately, the slight hesitation as clear to her as any neon sign. This one said in bold letters, "I just lost track of something I've been focusing on." Ranma had though about it some, after the last two meetings, and decided to test the woman on a hunch she had. That reaction seemed to back up her concerns, easily enough. Whoever this woman was, she could sense the particular something about Ranma that made her a demon, just as easily as she could track that particular something that set her apart as well.

Such a thing almost guaranteed that the woman was a demon hunter, of some kind. It made her infinitely more dangerous than the usual hunter, however, as she wasn't_ acting_ like one.

Rather than bolt assuming her cover was blown and the other meetings were just some kind of elaborate set up, Ranma sat and watched the leggy woman approach her table, eyes never lighting on her for more than the moment required to dismiss her cloaked presence. Once she was close enough, Ranma kicked the chair across from her lightly, causing the feet to bark against the wooden floor noisy. At the same time, she dropped the Umisenken, suddenly 'reappearing' where she'd been all that time. "Hey. Take a load off," she offered amicably enough.

The woman's reaction was telling, and Ranma stifled a smirk at how easy it had been to get one. She watched as her second employer's posture shifted almost imperceptibly, but it was definitely there. Defensive. Ready for some attack. Her right hand also tucked behind her, a move Ranma knew could be the prelude to pulling anything from a gun, to a sword, to a shoulder-mounted RPG launcher out of supposedly nowhere.

That one old demon hunter woman taught her a fear of ki-storage that Mousse never managed, with that one.

Only after the redhead's voice had chimed out did the woman who called herself Setsuna relax slightly, though the wary tension in her eyes remained. "Hello, Maya. That was a neat trick."

Ranma rolled with the use of her assumed name easily, having picked it out herself. "Learned it from a trained bear, at a circus," she quipped, her grin curving up into a smirk at those words. "Fancy meeting you here – if I wasn't skipping school, you'd have missed me."

"Oh, not so much a coincidence," Setsuna assured. "I'm in a unique position to know when our students go missing."

Ranma laughed at that, nodding. "True enough, I suppose. I do have an image to maintain, sadly."

The emerald-haired woman favored Ranma with a faint smile. "If your grades didn't say otherwise, I'd simply think you a delinquent. Though, these rumors I hear of you taking up the role as_ Sukeban_ for JMHS do make me wonder."

Tugging at her braid – an action that was quickly becoming habit – the younger woman laughed somewhat nervously. "Ah, well. The other girls, some of the rougher ones, seem to think I have some kinda experience leading gangs and all... not much I can do about it. If I try and get them to drop it, it turns into a fight, and I'm right back where I started. Better to just let them have their way, and play along for a while."

A delicate green eyebrow rose at that. "Indeed? Well then, I'll just caution you not to incite any further lack of discipline in the student body. Perhaps you can be a good influence-"

Ranma couldn't help herself, as she laughed outright at that. "Me? Good influence?" Her chuckles died down to a less disruptive level, before she continued, "Sorry, but I think you're barking up the wrong tree there, Miss Meiou."

"Perhaps," the taller woman allowed, before her smile turned wicked. "There was after all, those few times you were seen going into the boy's restrooms..."

Coughing suddenly from the water she was drinking going down the wrong way, Ranma leveled a half-hearted glare at the woman across from her. "There's a good reason for that, and it's not at all what you're thinking." Grumbling to herself, the young woman kicked back on the legs of her chair. "Not sure what I'm supposed to do as a gang-leader, though. I mean, most of those girls aren't bad, just... different, you know? They don't have the stable home lives, maybe, or the people backing them up, to know how to live the way everyone wants," the petite form thought out loud, reaching up to push her hood back. "Suppose that makes me one of them after all."

"I'm sure you'll find your way," the emerald-haired woman assured, before reaching into her suit jacket. Ranma showed no visible reaction, but her mind shifted into a more ready state, regardless. Setsuna's hand returned holding a thin envelope, which she laid on the table, before sliding it across in a slow fashion. "For your second job. You did well."

"I'm-" Ranma cut herself off, from finishing her intended claim to be the best. "-happy to be of service," she continued instead, shrugging at her companion's raised brow at her pause.

Setsuna nodded, apparently accepting the youth's statement. "I do wonder why the family you separated yourself from didn't have a higher opinion of your talents," she queried with a slight tilting of her head. "I was skeptical when you answered the ad, but you've proven very capable, for one so young. A shame, really."

Ranma let her lip curl slightly, inadvertently displaying an impressive row of sharpened teeth. "Eh, family's not a good topic, if you don't mind," she bit out, receiving an amicable shrug in answer. "Anyway. I get the jobs done. That's what matters."

"Indeed," Setsuna agreed, while straightening her shoulders slightly, settling her suit jacket. "That aside, then, I have your next job, if you're interested?"

_"Another, so soon?"_ Ranma asked herself, doing a quick mental tally of the number of demons she'd run across or heard of in the last short while since settling in Juuban while another impulse had her blood quicken in her veins. This would make seven in two months – three that were non-threats, two she took care of recently, and the one that the Senshi had handled along with a city block just after she'd gotten her job. Officially, anyway. There were others, but... Ranma blinked as she pulled her mind hard away from those thoughts. Rather than show her surprise at the new job, Ranma simply nodded. "Sure, keeps food on the table. What'cha got for me?"

Pulling a small slip of paper from her suit pocket again, she slid it across the table, letting it rest beside the envelope already there. "Another deportation order. You seem to handle delivering those well."

The redhead smiled sunnily. "Got to put these amazing people-skills to use, y'know," she quipped, though her expression darkened quickly after. "Though... I've been wondering how you know-"

"I don't ask about your skills," Setsuna interrupted quietly, but firmly, "so do me the favor of not asking about this, in return. Call it professional courtesy."

Ranma blinked at the woman for a few moments, before nodding once. "Fair enough. You pay well enough not to ask too many questions."

"We all have a life we want to lead, and want to continue leading. That we have other callings sometimes intrudes on that desire. How we balance the two, that defines how we ultimately_ live_."

Again, the redhead was left blinking after he companion spoke. "That's... true. I guess."

A slow smile crossed the woman's features as she stood, apparently satisfied with their meeting. "Try not to get into too much trouble, Maya."

"Only when no one's looking," the redhead replied, as the taller woman walked away. Again, Ranma found herself somewhat captivated by the woman's walk, openly staring at the sway of hips and generous view of toned, tanned skin. Once she was out of view, Ranma slumped into her seat, the tension leaving her body in a rush. "Man, something about her always puts me on edge."

"Pretty girls do that to people," a new voice offered, as a familiar presence settled where the taller woman had once been. It was followed by the clink of a glass being sat in front of her. "Though usually it only affects us men. Makes me wonder occasionally if I should warn my daughter about you, Maya."

Chuckling, the redhead took a long drink of the cocktail she'd been given, before looking up from behind her cascade of bangs at the her boss. Sparing him a rakish smile, she hummed thoughtfully, "Lock her up and throw away the key, and I'll just climb up the castle wall." When the man's expression turned shocked at her blatant reply, Ranma laughed openly. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Nozomi's safe around me. Think of her kinda like a little sister, to be honest." Pocketing the slip and envelope on the table, Ranma spared her employer a more normal, honest smile. "So, everything ready for tonight?"

Still slightly shaken by the young woman's joke, the older man nodded, regaining his conversational footing. "Should be ready for the rush. I feel bad with you ditching school for this-"

"Don't," Ranma cut the man off, her hand held up between them. "It ain't gonna matter one way or another. School's never been something I did because I had to, more when I could. Right now, I need a place to stay, and that means I need a job."

"You could always stay with us, you know."

"I appreciate the offer," Ranma replied, and she really did. And she knew just the same that it would really,_ really_ not work out. "But I got to be on my own. Pride," she explained, somewhat honestly. "Really my biggest issue. But we all got something like that."

Shrugging, the man nodded. Spying her newspaper, his expression lit somewhat. "Oh, that's today's?"

Peering down, Ranma realized what he meant. "Oh, the paper. Yeah, I got it to check out this 'Exorcist' that's been in the headlines."

"Right, the one beating the Senshi to the punch," the man noted, missing the satisfied little grin Ranma sported. "Lot of talk about that this morning. People don't know what to make of what this Exorcist character does, though a lot of them are thrilled they do it without blowing up the city block where the demon is."

Ranma stifled her grin, keeping her attention on her homework, not that she was actually doing it. Her boss' next words drew her back, however, "Got to say that footage was gruesome though. Got to wonder if they're not worse than what they're fighting."

The redhead blinked owlishly before paling dramatically. "...footage?"

"Yeah, some girl from Juuban High got some pictures of what was left of that last demon, before the police and forensics showed up to clean the scene," the older man explained, flipping thorough the paper.

"That... that wasn't in the paper..."

"Damnedest thing, looked like someone turned the tables and ate the demon this time, rather than the other way around. What? Paper – oh, no, no. She apparently sold it to a television station." The man peered over the newspaper at her. "You do watch TV, right?"

Conversation between the two died off at that point uncomfortably, with the bar's owner absently watching a sports game on the widescreen TV's peppered around the bar, while Ranma scratched something down in a worn notebook. The only break in that silence came a few minutes later, being a muffled curse, as the redhead looked at one of the slips of paper she held. "Right, kinda... late for something. I'll be back before my shift!" she called back, running from the bar at a dead sprint that kicked up loose paper in her wake.

–

"She could've warned me that this job was only a few hours off," Ranma groused, as she banged around her small efficiency apartment like a contained tornado. Clothes were shed, tossed into vaguely organized piles, while others were pulled out of boxes that served as a dresser and stuffed into a bag. Ranma's bar uniform, such as it was, got packed into a small duffel, along with a small selection of makeup that functioned more to hide any wounds she couldn't obscure with clothing than personal embellishment.

Thanks to her new demonic nature, her 'natural' coloration seemed to take care of such things on its own. Hooray.

Heaving a sigh, Ranma looked to her disused school bag, before shaking her head. Homework would have to wait till after her shift. If at all. It was a damned miracle things were working out so her schedule let her make tests and mostly keep her grades up, but it'd be a moot point soon, if she didn't start attending more regularly. There was only so many absences she could explain away, before the school would fail her on principle alone. It was actually a wonder she was still enrolled, and Ranma suspected Setsuna of meddling, but couldn't prove anything, and was wary to consider it. Too many questions, and the boon might disappear. Seeing as the woman seemed to be at least partially involved with the school's administration, it wouldn't be too hard a thing to do nudge some data around, in her behalf... but was what she did for the woman, worth that kind of attention?

More things to make her paranoid, Ranma admitted with a gusty sigh.

Checking the wall clock, she set her internal version and nodded, before checking herself in the mirror by the closet. Gone was the urban girl, to be replaced by someone who looked like they'd be going to a gym. A sports top in black was tucked into a similar pair of running pants, that sported buttons down the sides in case she needed to let loose a bit more. She'd learned the value of clothing that could adapt like her form seemed prone to, in those first few weeks. Replacing clothes every other night got expensive, and there was nothing like a busty, stunning redhead naked and covered in blood that screamed "Look at me!" Her cover was tenuous enough without any more of those incidents, thanks.

The top having its exposed shoulders would accommodate her wings, when and if she called on them, and the material for both was easy to clean, and came out unstained, for the most part. Black was good, for that, and clothes made to deal with sweat seemed to handle other bodily fluids just as well. As Ranma absently inspected herself in the mirror, she redid her trademark braid, working it into a higher, tighter, less tempting variety. The first demon she'd taken out had nearly gutted her, by using it against her, and since then, she'd been debating cutting it off... but never did so. It would have been too much like giving up on her old self, to take that kind of action.

Maybe she'd have to do exactly that, someday, Ranma admitted. That thought was followed by a derisive laugh. "Yeah. About the same time I give up on being a guy."

One last glance at the clock had her grabbing the small duffel, after shoving a garbage bag into it. Not like she could clean her clothes before work with how the timing was today.

–

Never let it be said that Ranma considered herself a hero.

That odd thought was brought on by what she was planning, in the next few minutes. The directions and time she held in her hand were rough estimates, accurate to a few minutes, but those few minutes made all the difference. She made the mistake once on her first job from Setsuna, and arrived late to save someone from becoming food for the demon she had been sent to kill. Glancing at her watch – another new addition – the redhead bit at her lip savagely.

She was going to be late.

"No," the martial artist thought quietly, "nothing at all like a hero." Not even in her past, really, despite all the 'heroic' things she'd done. She'd been too clouded with pride and arrogance, then, to see how she only made things worse more often than not. Now, she lacked those things. What was there to be prideful of? Her code, her honor? The Art still served her, but she used it for things it was never meant for. Survival, killing. "Sure, they were demons," she reasoned bitterly, "but then what am I?"

Were they really so different?

Ranma knew the answers – at least all the ones that kept her up at night. Yes, they were different. She didn't prey on people, didn't drain them, didn't hunt humans for food or amusement.

No, they weren't so different. How many of the demons out there, that she'd one day hunt down, were human just like her, once? What did that make her, who hunted them? Didn't it make her more of a monster, that she preyed on monsters herself?

Her honor was a ruined mess, the less spoken of the better. Ranma knew well enough that if she really wanted to appease that idea, that the only way to do so would be to end her existence. Even lacking the curse, there were just too many entanglements, feeding on one another, eating at all those involved, getting bigger and more bitter as time went on. The Amazons were already murderous lunatics, on the best days – how long till someone else went just as far? How long until a jealous fiancee or rival didn't pull that punch, and someone actually died? And Ranma knew who would be blamed, ultimately.

And, she admitted, it was wholly her fault.

The code she'd lived by died that day with Ayaka, and her honor had been slowly wasting away since she'd been born, at the hands of her father, and her own lack of decisiveness. Trying to justify anything she did now with either of those two ideas would only dirty them further. No, she did what she did for a lot of reasons.

Not because she was protecting those who couldn't protect themselves – as the code Genma had beaten into her demanded – but because someone had to do, what she did. Maybe the code lived on in her, in some twisted way, but she couldn't stand by and let people be preyed on by demons and do nothing. All her training, all the time and sweat and blood and tears she'd spent on being who she'd become, could not sit idly by. It would have been like asking the wind to be still, or water to flow up. For all that she was driven, however, Ranma had no illusions about being noble in her actions, or that she acted out of any concept of justice. Perhaps what she was doing could be seen as right from some outside perspective, but that didn't mean such a thing was her purpose.

She did it to survive. The less demons around her, the less demon hunters would frequent the area, which meant she could work on her semblance of a life. Her ability to mask herself was imperfect at best, and though she was getting better, there was simply no way to fully hide her nature. Oh, she could cloak it for short periods even further with the Umisenken, but that was a temporary thing at best. Even she couldn't keep the technique up constantly.

She did it, because she had to. Eyes glazing slightly as the hunger she'd been ignoring stabbed through her, Ranma faltered as she lighted on a rooftop, bare feet clattering noisily along the roofing gravel there. She'd learned the trick to using her ki to slowly siphon energy from her surroundings, to bolster herself, but it was like eating by breathing in the scents of food. Sure, you got something you needed from the air, but it wasn't food at all. She needed something with more substance, more density.

Ranma refused to think about how much she'd been hunting recently, and how much more often she'd needed to... eat.

Sure, she was off to track down and kill another demon, and do the right thing. One less pin on the map, to bring attention to her little corner of the world. She'd save some people, then scar their minds for life, as she fed on her kill. "Yeah. That's some hero," she distantly muttered, as her demonic senses snapped into focus on something nearby.

Fueled by her new body's needs, her instincts flared and where a petite redhead had stood just moments before, a figure from either nightmare – or perhaps daydream – stretched in its stead. With a clap of wings against the quiet Juuban air, the demon swept up into the sky, beginning its hunt.

"I don't understand. We're the heroes! Why do we have to stand by like this?" The figure before Setsuna waited a beat, before continuing, "I don't think we should stand by – I say we go."

It was clear the Guardian of the Gates that her future Queen was trying to summon up a semblance of her royal air, in the attempt to sway her from her current path. What the blond had attempted however, fell well short of authority, and settled quite firmly into the realm of petulance. Folding her hands into her lap as she patiently waited out the chorus of agreement from some of the other younger Senshi, Setsuna sat quiet and unshaken in her resolve. "I understand your feelings," she assured the young woman before her, seeing her eyes light up with hope. "However..."

That hope died, then rebirthed itself as resignation. "However?"

"There is a reason for why I'm asking you all to wait these attacks out. They are being handled, after all," she explained quietly, indicating the newspaper before her.

Ami, ever the voice of reason, chimed in at her pause. "Does this have something to do with the training you're having us do? To better use our powers?"

Nodding, Setsuna settled back in her chair with a light sigh. "Very much so. These threats are minor, and though they are dangerous, they don't require our attention," she calmly pointed out. The hesitance in the blonde before her was still high, but that of those with her lessened as she continued on, "Rather than spend time chasing minor demons that are easily handled by others trained for just such foes, our efforts are better-spent working to broaden our skills and sharpen our focus-"

"Our focus should be on protecting people," Usagi insisted again, folding her arms across her breasts in a display of solidity. Setsuna had to admit, the girl was very good at projecting her feelings via body language, as the girl's posture practically screamed rebellion and stubbornness. "We are the protectors of love and justice. Demons have no place, where the Senshi are!"

As her slight irritation at the impromptu meeting bloomed into a full headache, Setsuna wondered again if she couldn't just go back in time, and throw Luna under a bus somewhere. Some carefully planted action manga, and a subtle nudge by way of a package with her henshin pen could have done so much better, for her peace of mind and sanity, than letting a schoolgirl's imagination run off on its own to build a heroic alter-ego.

Though, a solid part of the blame rested on a different Mau, to be honest. Artemis' sense of humor resulted in 'Sailor V's' costume, which in turn, became the inspiration for Usagi's own plan. A plan which the Silver Imperium Crystal, the fundamental tie between their Senshi Crystals and their decimated planets, enforced with a single-minded vengeance.

Of course, she couldn't just burst the girl's little daydream, no matter how preposterous it made her look. Doing so would crush the blonde's dreams, and that would do none of them any good... not to mention there were protocols she could not bypass in place, regarding how and what she could tell the young woman. No, she, like the rest of them, was stuck with the fuku, and more importantly, a future Queen with a hero complex.

Recovering her thoughts from the interruption a moment before, Setsuna loosed a small, put-upon sigh. "Very well. If you insist on going to investigate the recent attacks, then I have to brief you on those who are out hunting the demons as well," she informed the gathered girls. "It wouldn't do to have you accidentally attacking an ally or innocent."

"You mean this 'Exorcist', the media's talking about?" Minako shook her head once as she wrapped her arms around herself, looking out a nearby window. "Tell me I wasn't the only one to see that news report this morning. I'm almost more concerned about them, than the demons."

To her side, Makoto nodded, latching on to the new topic rather than come between her Princess and future Queen, and the intimidating Pluto. "That last demon we couldn't follow up on because of all the press and police, right. Was that what was left of it?"

"It looked like a wild animal had attacked it," Minako elaborated, the taller brunette by her side nodding emphatically.

"Girls." The chatter that had sprung up died off, at Setsuna's raised voice. "This kind of rumor-mongering and speculation are exactly what lead to most of our mistakes," she reminded, noting the two most vocal Senshi's synchronized wince at that. "I'm no less to blame for those either, but I learned from my errors. Now," she pulled a folder from seemingly nowhere, and laid it on the table. "There are some difficult truths you need to hear and deal with, if you insist on this course of action."

"What do you mean?"

The elder Senshi glanced at Usagi, then back to the papers before her. "The person hunting those demons happens to be a demon as well."

There was a moment of deadly stillness, before the room erupted into a cacophony of recrimination and noise. Abiding it for a minute – she'd glanced at her watch to verify it – Setsuna finally called the younger Senshi back to order. "Are you all quite done acting like children?" All the noise in the room died, leaving behind angry glances. "Good. I would like to remind you, that not only has Mamoru been 'turned', but so has Chibiusa, Rei's grandfather, and countless others. Just because someone's form appears to be something, does not mean the being inside matches.

"You would do very well to keep that in mind, in the upcoming days," she warned with a hint of foreboding in her voice.

With a contemplative look on her face, Rei breached the silence that had fallen in the wake of Setsuna's words. "If this Exorcist is a demon, why do they fight their own kind?"

Setsuna allowed an honest shadow of a smile to bend her lips. "Their reasons are their own, sadly. And far too complex for me to possibly guess."

"But you have the Gates," Usagi countered, hands worrying at her hair where she'd pulled it into her lap after taking a seat.

Heaving a sigh, Setsuna considered the best way to explain what she needed to, without wholly destroying the other girl's trust and reliance on her. She didn't need the latter so much as she found it useful and convenient for her purposes – those being for the most part damage control and avoiding larger problems. Settling on a truth, if not the whole truth, she began, "The Gates are an amazing tool, and one that takes decades to properly learn. What they were created for, mirrors my own purpose as their Guardian – to ensure the stability and security of the local timestream."

As she'd expected, Ami siezed onto her wording like a shark scenting blood in the water. "Local timestream?"

"Yes," she agreed simply. "_Local_. It would be impossible for me to monitor the entirety of time, in a universe. There are other tools similar to the Gates in other civilizations, who's magic, technology, or simple power allows them the possibility to abuse time itself."

"So you have a union?" Minako chimed in, getting incredulous looks from everyone, except Setsuna who was quietly chuckling. "Oh, c'mon! She thought it was funny!"

"No, I don't have a union," the older woman replied, still smiling. Her mirth lessened, as she continued, "The nature of the Gates and my own position at them don't allow me to abuse them – and thereby the timesteam – to do what you're thinking. I can look backwards, and plan based on what has already occurred, but I cannot look forward. It is forbidden." She did not elaborate on how she could, if needed, contact her past self to affect needed changes.

"But, what about Chibiusa? And that time you let some of us travel forward to Crystal Tokyo?"

Setsuna nodded to Ami's question, having expected it. "Good questions. For one, Chibiusa was sent back to avoid paradox, even if doing so caused instability. Information would not have been enough; I needed someone with experience to brief me on what to expect, and how to guide events to mend the damage they made to the timeline.

"Those same instabilities allow, for lack of a better phrasing, windows which I can use to travel, or send others. Call it a natural balancing situation. Time itself allows for compensation to be made, when breaches occur."

It took her a minute, but Usagi got her head around what was bothering her about what the Senshi was saying, and put it to words. "If you can't see forward, like you said, then how can you know or not know what's coming? You've warned us about things a lot, how can you do that, when you can't see the future?"

"I look backwards," she replied without elaboration. Giving the Senshi a moment to chew on that, she continued, "Ami would understand it best, but even looking back allows one to plan for the future. In fact, it offers better assurance – the past is set. The future is ever-changing."

"I guess I understand," Usagi muttered, looking somewhat perturbed by the recent changes to her assumptions. "So, how can you be sure we need to train like you've been having us do? And what about this new demon?"

Folding her hands before her on the table, Setsuna met the girl's eyes directly. "I'm not sure you will need the training. However, you_ should_ have it. Senshi candidates in your mother's time needed at least a decade of training, just to qualify to test for their positions."

Makoto didn't like the sound of that, and said so, "That's a lot of time... you're not going to make us do that, are you? I mean, I have school and college soon, and some day I want to open a bakery..." She missed calculating look that Rei shot her, though Setsuna did not.

"Yeah, I don't mind fighting for love and justice and all that, but ten years?" Minako shook her head. "We're doing alright, as-is. We don't need that kind of training."

"I beg to differ," Pluto's Guardian replied icily. "To be blunt, your performance in the past has been terrible."

"Hey!"

"That's mean," Usagi complained, huffing angrily. "We won, didn't we?"

Setsuna's eyes narrowed on the girl, making her squirm. "And how many times have you all died? How many innocents have been slain? How much avoidable damage do you all do, wantonly throwing your power around? How many times have you had to rely on the Silver Crystal to revive the dead?"

"But-"

"You mother foresaw the need for that, and bound enough power – gathered from her own dying Empire, I might add – for you to have that ability, in the event of an emergency. Do you think the Crystal will always have that kind of power?" Shaking her head, Setsuna sat back, tiredly regarding the young woman before her. "What happens, Usagi, when it fails you some day?"

Paling, the blonde looked to her friends, then back to the dusky-skinned woman before her. "...fails?"

Nodding, Setsuna held the girl's eyes with her own. "Fails. The Silver Crystal is powerful, but not without limits. One day, it will cease to function, and you will be left without it as a crutch – a crutch your mother knew you'd need, but a crutch nonetheless. In time you'll have your own formidable powers, and can recharge it to a degree, but never to the point it once was. You don't have a dying Empire's hopes and dreams to bind to it," she grimly concluded.

Usagi looked to her hands, eyes growing misty. "...I just want to do what's right..."

"And you are. And you will. But you can't keep on doing it like you have."

Nodding at Setsuna's words, the blonde looked up, resolve clear in her blue eyes. "Alright. We'll train harder." A few grumbles were muttered from the other Inner Senshi, but she quieted them with a glare. "I mean it! If I have to get up early and practice, you do too!"

As Usagi, Minako, Ami, and Makoto filed out of the Shrine, Setsuna knew this wouldn't be the end of things. Likely, at best, she simply delayed the inevitable. Ami would likely be the catalyst for that, but she wouldn't act against her. It wasn't her place, to do so, and to box the Senshi in would only raise their distrust in her, making her work all the harder.

She pulled herself from her thoughts, as Rei settled into the space across from her. "You know," the shrine maiden began, "Usagi's better than you give her credit for."

Setsuna nodded, "I give her more than I let on. She needs to mature, however, and if previous battles haven't been enough..." she looked to her hands, frowning severely. "I don't know how else to push her. I would have assumed seeing you all die – repeatedly – would force her to take this all more seriously."

"She wouldn't be Usagi, if that were so."

Pluto's Guardian didn't remind the young woman that Usagi no longer went by that name, in her time as Neo-Queen Serenity. "Is this why you stayed behind? To lecture me on my handling of Usagi?"

Rei waved the woman's question aside. "No, not really. I agree, actually, with most of what you're trying to do. I've always wanted her to be more of a leader, and maybe this will be what pushes her to that point."

"But?"

"...but I also wonder at why you're protecting that demon," Rei concluded, her eyes narrowing. "I understand that our enemies use people against us sometimes. Hell, Chiba's something of the village bike in that regard." She smirked, as Setsuna laughed quietly at that. "But why work so hard to isolate us from them? You know as well as I, what happens when demons prey on one another."

She did, but had hoped Rei did not. "I see you're the one I have to convince of this, rather than Usagi," Setsuna murmured quietly, reaching up to rub at the bridge of her nose. "Very well then.

"When I said I couldn't look forward, I wasn't lying. However, nothing keeps me from glancing to the_ side_." Seeing the younger woman's confusion, Setsuna elaborated. "Potential realities, other versions of today," she explained, smiling at Rei's widened eyes. "Exactly. Those probable worlds give me greater insight, and new perspective.

"What I learned from watching all those alternate timelines, playing spectator, is that we are not prepared for what comes next."

"What!" Rei stood suddenly, her chair clattering to the floor. "You said there wouldn't be another enemy!"

Shaking her head, Pluto smiled a wry, private smile. "I said I could foresee no other enemies. But you misunderstand. This isn't another Beryl, or Galaxia. Our next fight I fear won't be against an outside force."

Rei's troubled demeanor didn't lessen at the elder Senshi's cryptic words. "I don't understand."

"And sadly, I cannot elaborate," Setsuna replied, bowing her head slightly. "In time, it will become clear. Just as the 'Exorcist's' reasons for what they do, and why I've asked for understanding and time, in their case."

"I'm still not convinced about that."

Standing and moving to the doorway, Setsuna paused, before favoring the shrine maiden with a haunted smile. "Neither am I. But hope springs eternal."

–

AN: Meh.


	6. Chapter 6

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: Foray #2 into something like what I ultimately was planning on. This was written before Eclipsed, and served as something of a 'Ramna and the Outers: take one!' situational proof. It has a bit more of my current interests represented, and is more in line with me relaxing into my writing, which sadly I do very little of.

—

**_Darkened Skies_**

"So... this is Juuban?"

Nodoka spared her child a slight smile. "Not quite. I say Juuban because people expect condominiums when you mention this ward. I live near the edge of Shinjuku. Minato and Juuban are a few blocks south."

Ranma nodded in understanding. Most of Shinjuku seemed pretty industrial, rather than residential. Not quite lugging – the packs and baggage were heavy, but not_ that_ heavy – her things, Ranma nodded, looking around herself curiously. "So... I really won't be going back to Furinkan?"

Her mother snorted indelicately. "No. You were right when you said that place was a circus. I did a small bit of research, and found out the principal there is quite mad."

"Could have told ya that," the redhead muttered, maneuvering her luggage through the small gate that lead up to her mother's new home. It was very familiar, resembling the former Saotome residence greatly. Then again, Ranma admitted, current home-building practices in Japan were based in homogeneity – everywhere you looked, things fit in neat little boxes, lined up in perfect little rows. Some days it made something inside the martial artist cringe. Turning her thoughts away from habits ingrained by ten years of constant travel, she smiled up at her mother. "Just hope I'm ready," she noted with a slight bit of anxiety.

"A little fear is understandable," Nodoka allowed, sparing her currently-female son an assuring smile. "Still, we did arrange a pair of tutors, you recall. They come highly recommended, and the arrangement seemed to your taste."

Ranma hummed slightly, nodding. The arrangement wasn't too unusual, as things went between familiar families. A trade of skills, rather than an exchange of money. Still, it made her nervous. This would be her first real experience with training and teaching. She just hoped not to botch it too badly. She really needed those tutors.

Not that she was gunning for Tokyo-U, but after the madness in Nerima, and a few choice words from her mother, the idea of being forced to live like Genma left her feeling very... motivated. It helped that her mother was very good at wording things to help her direct her focus. Turning schooling into a challenge seemed to have done the trick.

"I think it'll work out," Ranma agreed. "Just hope I don't make a fool of myself too much."

Nodoka rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about it, son," the woman said. "Speaking of..."

Ranma winced, knowing this was coming. "I... yeah. If I have to."

"Actually, I've become a little concerned about your curse," Nodoka explained, letting them into her home. It was spacious for two – but only that many. She had not purchased it with the idea of her whole family being present, and had no desire to. Genma was no longer welcome there without her invitation, something she had made quite clear. "From what I understand after... Jusendo, was it?" Ranma nodded, her face darkening slightly at the reminder. "Yes, after Jusendo it seemed the temperature needed to activate your curse kept rising. What is the hot water trigger up to now?"

Thinking about the last two times she'd managed to assume her male form, Ranma made a face. "Ugh. A bit below boiling."

Nodoka made a pained face to match. "Soon, you will need boiling water, won't you?"

"That's what I'm afraid of," Ranma replied quietly, sitting her things down by the room she'd been given. She'd visited the new Saotome home with her mother in the past, but it was never a place she'd lingered. Until recently, there were just too many things tying her to Nerima – and she wanted no repeats of what happened when her mother's house had last been demolished previously. She felt bad enough having one destroyed home on her conscience.

Thinking about water, however, caused her neutral mask to break slightly, a frown tugging at her lips. "If the trend continues, I'm afraid that even boiling water won't work. And I don't think I can stand scalding myself on super-hot steam... or if it'd even work. These curses are really particular."

"It is troubling," Nodoka agreed, cursing her soon-to-be ex-husband again for all he'd done to destroy her little boy. Little girl, now, more often than not. "Perhaps some research is needed? I'm... not sure where to look, but if I can help in any way, Ranma, just ask."

"Thanks, mom," the redhead replied with a real smile – one that actually reached her eyes.

Nodoka couldn't help but smile back. It had been far too long since she'd seen Ranma happy. That thought recalled why they'd left Nerima, and her own smile faltered slightly.

Ranma knew what was going through her mother's mind, and gave the older woman a firm hug. "Don't worry 'bout it. I'll get over it sooner or later. You can too."

"I know," Nodoka replied, her pride and joy clear in her voice. Such a strong child she had! "I just find myself so angry after all you did for that despicable girl."

"I wasn't exactly the best person to be around either," Ranma replied with a raised brow. The effect was rather cute, and earned a hand in her hair, ruffling it into a frazzled mess. "Hey! You know it's true."

"No excuse," Nodoka stated with an air of finality. "Petty squabbles between betrothed are nearly expected. We know – as parents – well enough that such things do not result in love overnight – sometimes not at all. But to go behind you, after you saving her life... and that boy! Some days I wish you'd done more, Ranma. I really do."

Tugging on her braid in embarrassment, Ranma shook her head. "No, Ryoga got what he deserved. I'm not gonna let it bother me anymore. I gave him his lumps, and that's that."

Nodoka nodded faintly. Truth was, Ranma had all but killed the boy. She'd checked the other teen's chart as the Tendos visited him in the hospital, and the prognosis actually had some permanent damage in it. Not that she blamed Ranma for his..._ her_ anger.

"Besides," the redhead quipped with misty eyes, "If not for all that, I'd not be here. So, lets just be thankful for what we got, mom."

Smiling proudly, Nodoka swept the smaller girl into a hug. "When'd you get wise, Ranma? It looks good on you."

Ranma just grinned, reveling in the feel of acceptance. "When I started taking after my mom."

–

Everything was changing.

Her fist roared out, the motion turning fluid at the contact point, as Ranma shifted her weight forward. One knee lashed out, as a punch became a light grapple.

_School_. She'd never have to see Furinkan again. She could focus on her grades, the one thing that the old man never let her do, and that the chaos that followed in her wake seemed to hate. Maybe she'd visit Ninomiya-sensei at home, though. She worried about the little ki-vampire. Ranma made a note to buy some pocky. Maybe another fighting-fish, for her collection.

Kata flowed. She never let a single full motion stay one style. In fact, the idea that these were truly kata was a lie. Kata were static, unchanging. This was controlled chaos, tuned to the Art. Her leg kicked up, a sweeping, jaw-cracking attack, that hung in midair while she pivoted on her planted foot, her arms knife-edging a sweep where a leg was expected. She tumbled backwards into a spinning flurry of striking feet.

_Home_. She had though the Tendo residence was home. Had felt it, deep in her bones those two years and some months she'd lived there. It had all turned out to be a lie. Self-delusion, her mother called it. Ranma realized she was right. She'd wanted a home so badly, that the first thing that looked like it, became it. Now, though, she had the real thing. And she loved it.

Her momentum let her roll through or under an imaginary guard, and the redhead exploded into a flurry of striking hands and feet, before going completely immobile. The chaotic dance of her momentum seemed to outpace her, and she turned on it. Just as sudden motion could disrupt an opponent, so too could sudden stillness.

Ranma breathed in the morning air in even, controlled, deep breaths. She sometimes missed the feeling of exertion that the Art used to bring, but she also reveled in knowing even her most strenuous routines couldn't wind her now. The kata she was in the middle of spun across the ground, against the wall, then took her into the air. A downward leg strike, that would drive a foe into the ground, or if blocked, keep her airborne just a fraction of a second longer. A series of punches, angled to give her just that little bit of lift. A sweeping kick...

She was changing, too.

Saotome Anything Goes was an aerial Art. Ranma was now uniquely qualified to perfect it.

Ranma gave into the urge that sang in her blood and with a sound of tearing silk, a pair of great terrible wings sheared the air behind her, holding her airborne. Ranma tilted her head, peering over a shoulder at the deceptively delicate looking structures that moved by her will, against any and all physical and biological logic. They were the stereotypical demon's wings – black of membrane and the dull red of dried blood along the flesh and bones. Bones that mimicked the structure of a mammals arm, resembling nothing so much as great bat wings. Ranma knew they were too small to support her, yet they did so. Their magic wouldn't fail her, in that way.

_Magic_. Looking inside herself in a moment of quiet disconnection, she could feel that new strength waiting, curled up like some sleeping beast within her. It nestled up against her ki, as if to emphasize its foothold inside her. "Here I am," it murmured in sleep, she imagined. "Waiting."

It had awakened when Saffron nearly killed Akane... and how she hated it for doing so. How she hated the siren's-song that reminded her how much she literally_ ached_ to grasp it.

She was a monster, now. Akane had said so. And in her heart, Ranma knew it too.

There had to have been another way. Something else, some other Ace she could have pulled to stop the maddened Phoenix godling. Instead, she had given into rage and despair. Sorrow. The pools, spawned by the same, answered. She really had no other explanation, but sometimes wondered. Her urge to destroy, to kill, to end Saffron had been answered – form following the function she desired. Something terrible to counter the admittedly beautiful Phoenix Lord.

Power had flooded Ranma – alien, strange, unfamiliar power. Where it came from, she didn't know, but at the time – male, despairing, and desperate – he hadn't asked. Fire and ice ran through him in rapid cycles searing him, freezing him, while something vital and delicate broke deep within the young martial artist. Scared and unsure, he'd tried to harness that rending force, but instead came knowledge. Terrible in its seduction, it wrapped around his fears and desires, whispering to the then-desperate young man. His own voice, his own knowledge, things long-ago he'd discounted and discarded as fantasy. He had tried to flee from that knowing, denying the pervasive sense of wrongness that came with it. Whatever had invaded him – had reawakened – hadn't stopped at the body, or simple ki. It had touched his fundamental self – that part that was the essential Ranma Saotome. Touched it, and changed it without permission or remorse. He'd felt violated in such a way that physical analogy simply could not compare. It had shamed him, but also... it felt right. Like a limb reawakening that he'd all but forgotten.

It gave him power. Power to destroy, as he had asked. Power to_ change_.

Within the burning, freezing, fountaining waters of Jusendo, Ranma ceased to be. For a fraction of a moment, as if the world had blinked, he was forgotten. Then, in an avalanche of unholy force, Saffron's fires were consumed by black infernal flame. Cold and relentless, the ebon fires sucked the heat from the Phoenix Lord, depriving him of strength. At the heart of that dark inferno was Ranma.

Backed by the magics unleashed by Jusendo, the then-female Ranma had tapped deeply into the new well of strength. She drank, tipped back that well, until bitter sand flooded her mouth. The power nearly unmade her, as her revealed and subtly demonic form shifted into something terrible. The two wings she thoughtlessly tread air with shuddered, stilled, then split once, then again while she hung suspended in the air. Black membranes gave way to to feathers engulfed in light-eating flame, suspended along skeletal pinions. Behind her, a great spiraling pattern was etched into the very fabric of reality, maddening to the eye, searing to the mind. Carved of hellfire, it spun lazily like the wheels of damnation, turning balefully behind the terrible and beautiful angel of destruction. In its pattern, the cold, long, bitter death of the universe was recorded in illuminated prose.

Ranma opened her mouth, and sang the song of Ending. It wasn't a song of words, or ideas, but desire and will, and the power those two ideas in her could bring to bear. Behind her, the Sigil collapsed inward, as if the pattern had weakened the wall between worlds, letting it crumble from the pressure of her need to destroy. Perhaps that's exactly what happened. Untouched, she sat at the center of cataclysm. There was no other way to describe it.

Saffron would never tell the tale of his defeat. Hellfire did not leave ash, to allow rebirth. Nor was he alone, in that fate. In the wake of his destruction, Jusendo resembled nothing so much as a volcanic crater, devoid of anything resembling life. The Dragon and Phoenix Taps were no more – there would be no more ascended phoenix, to take up Saffron's mantle until those half-avian warriors found another way to incite the change in their leaders, again.

Later, out of fear and shame, she had lied to those that had fled when Saffron's anger had turned insane and indiscriminate. Luck had been on her side, as she was able to deflect most of the questions... and that her initial fear had been unfounded. Mount Phoenix was unscathed, and other than herself, no others had been touched by what she'd unleashed.

Only one truly witnessed this, besides her. In a bitter flavor of irony, Ranma found that she gave up everything for her love, including that love. Akane had shied from her, eyes full of fear, with the word monster on her lips.

And there was no denial Ranma could speak to explain herself.

Snapping herself from those memories, Ranma found she was continuing her aerial kata, her wings flaring and spinning with her through the motions. Her 'normal' wings, the redhead mused with a sub-vocalized laugh. Smiling faintly, she let the Art have her mind, drowning the self in motion and instinct.

Half an hour later, Nodoka stood upon her back deck, watching a young woman, demonic in form but noble at heart, rip through the air in a spectacular display. Hardly showing any reaction, she clapped her hands, "The furo is ready, Ranma. Go clean up, and breakfast will be done when you're out."

She turned with a slight smile on her lips, moving to make a breakfast for them before Ranma's first day at Juuban Municipal High School. She knew some would call her mad – her own mother first of them – for so casually accepting her child's fate. How could she not, though? He had not embraced evil – far from it in fact. He'd been cursed again, for defying great evil. Her son was so manly, giving up everything for the one he loved, only to have it end so tragically. Even in her fantastic romances, though, very little was mentioned about the life after such heroism. It was a sad reality that she could not arrange a Valhalla for her dear son, out of all the fiancees he trailed behind him – now her. And the suitors were quite out of the range of possibility. No child of hers would be subjected to a madman like Kuno! Not to mention Ranma's own refusal of such. Some days she despaired of ever seeing grandchildren in her lifetime, but pushed such notions away. She finally had her child back – she would not jeopardize that. Not again.

Ranma's great reward, as she had asked for it, was to just have a normal life for a while. She knew better than to believe it would last, but she had to get away from Nerima for a time. Nodoka understood this, having witnessed Ranma's new self, her changing curse, and her heartache at Akane's betrayal.

That... girl did not deserve her lovely fallen angel.

Nodoka stifled her anger, the knife in her hand slowing in its progress through the fish she'd be serving with rice and miso. "No more thinking on the past," she chided herself. "The future is more important."

She had her baby back. And if it meant her son was more her tomboyish daughter now, so be it. Nodoka smiled – genuinely – and called up that breakfast was ready. Like a true Saotome, Ranma was there with a healthy appetite in a flash.

Nodoka restrained the urge to coo at her child. So manly!

–

"Ya don't hafta walk me there, mom," Ranma noted, not that she was complaining. She wasn't on the fence beside the road, as she'd often be tempted to be, but was walking beside her mother as they traveled from the outskirts of Shinjuku into Minato. There, they'd take a subway for a short trip to Juuban Municipal High School.

"Don't begrudge your mother her small indulgences," Nodoka chided, smiling over at Ranma. The dear girl cut such a cute figure in her boy's school uniform. It would be better if she could get the girl into a Seifuku, but Nodoka knew better to push so hard, so fast. Ranma was still hurt and healing from too many other things. Not the most accomplished parent, Nodoka knew well enough however not to push too hard on this. Besides, the Gakuran was quite smart. She had to sew a few tucks into the waist of the top to accommodate her child's prodigious bust, so that the tailored top wouldn't seem simply baggy, but the effect was still quite sharp. The slacks needed to be custom made, however, or Ranma wouldn't even consider them – and Juuban Municipal would not allow her child to attend out of uniform. Compromises were made, and Ranma was satisfied with the result.

Nodoka had used what she learned to covertly acquire a matching few sets of Seifuku, regardless. One never knew...

It occurred to her that her 'son' did nothing by half measures, even being female. Chuckling quietly, she reached out and ruffled Ranma's hair affectionately, getting a half-hearted squeak and glare in return.

Ranma's face melted into a smile. "Thanks for walking me there, mom."

"First days are important," Nodoka replied with a nod. "And how could I not walk my son to his first day, at least once? This is so exciting!"

Ranma nodded, feeling very content with this new beginning. It was quite a lot different from her first day at Furinkan. She'd batted the idea back and forth with her mother about walking with her two tutors – who were in the same year she was – but decided for today at least, she'd give in and let her mom 'mother' her a bit. The woman had a lot of time to make up for, after all.

Laughing quietly and practically glowing with happiness, Ranma mused on something that had been on her mind for some time, since the curse began to shift. Normally being called son by her mother wouldn't even register as something to think on, but now... Even the Phoenix Pill could only do so much, she knew. Water had to be hot to change her, and the Pill could do nothing for that. The fear that eventually even boiling water wouldn't be enough spiked through the redhead, dimming her enjoyment of the day.

"Hey, mom?"

Nodoka noted the suddenly subdued tone, turning to see a pensive look on her child's face. "Yes, Ranma?"

Steeling herself, the redhead kept her eyes hard forward, so she'd not see the reaction her mother had to her words. Not while she was speaking them, at least. "I... I know we talked 'bout the curse some last night. I know why I gotta go to school as a girl. Ain't like a thermos will keep water that hot anyway, or that they'd let me keep a kettle.

"But uh," she hedged, wincing. Her voice grew small and wary, "...till we figure somethin' out, maybe you shouldn't call me son."

The elder Saotome woman kept her expression clear. "Are you sure, Ranma? I understand what you are saying, but this... this is your identity that you are so casually speaking of. I know in your mind you are still male. You were born my son. Do you truly want to change that?"

"No!" Ranma's reply was hissed, angry, but not at Nodoka. "I don't. Hell, if I could do it, I'd fix this now. But I can't," she muttered. "Don't normally care, but... we're starting over right?" Nodoka nodded, waiting for the smaller girl to continue. "Well, I'm doin' it as a girl. For now. And till we figure somethin' out... I don't want you to get looked at funny."

The last was spoken so softly, that Nodoka almost missed it. She didn't however, and Ranma found herself wrapped up in a fierce hug. "M-Mom?"

"You are so noble," the older woman murmured into Ranma's hair. "I don't care. I don't. But if it will ease your mind, I'll adjust. Daughter."

Ranma visibly swallowed, but the spike of anger and disgust she was expecting at that word didn't come. Maybe it was having her mother holding her that kept it at bay. Maybe it was the fact this was her own idea. Maybe it was the acceptance and love she could almost see her mother glowing with. Whatever it was, Ranma was glad for it. "Just remember, I'm still a guy up here," she added, tapping her temple. "So no guys, or marriage inteviews."

"I understand, Ranma," Nodoka replied, sniffling once. "But, I do expect grandchildren sometime, daughter. So, we must beat your curse, or speed things up!" Taking her kimono in a hand, she took Ranma's with her other, pulling them into a light jog.

"Mom! Wait, gah," Ranma stumbled then bounced up to pace her mother. "Whaddya mean, speed things up?"

"Mustn't keep all the lovely girls in Juuban in suspense," Nodoka replied with a sly grin. "How can they fall in love with my daughter and discover her true manly self if we keep them waiting?"

Ranma let her head slump, but her grin remained. "Moooom..."

"And clean up your speech, dear. You're almost as bad as that Amazon sometimes, I swear."

Rolling her eyes, Ranma heaved a put-upon sigh. "Yes, mother."

"That's a good girl."

–

Ranma was well aware that she was on her last year of high school. This year, and what she could do to make up her grades, would determine how her future went. What she'd do with it was up in the air still, but she knew that there was something more to it than just the Art. Not that she'd ever give_ that_ up, but still. She wasn't going to let the old man win. Her future was her own.

There were a few things she did plan on changing, however. If only just to appease her sense of mischief. Her mother had balked at one change in particular...

"Today we have a new student, joining us for this year. Saotome-san, please come in and introduce yourself."

Homeroom class 3-B blinked – minus two figures who simply grinned wider – somewhat in unison as a small-statured, buxom, cheerful redhead strode into the room casually, turning a sharp corner before the blackboard to write her name. The usual characters, if taken outside of naming context, for Saotome appeared. "Fast young woman," Ranma mused as she finished the last of them. "Pretty accurate."

Her smirk widened as she scratched out her given name. "Let 'em chew on that a while," she thought, a glint coming to her eye.

3-B again blinked as they took in girl before them, standing with her hands behind her back, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Her demeanor, posture, and walk all screamed 'boy!' to the young people watching her, and that was before the tailored male uniform was taken into consideration. The name on the board behind her must have been some kind of family joke – who names their child "Wild demon", after all? Though, most could see the humor in it, considering the very-Japanese young woman before them, with very-Gaijin hair and eye colors. "Good morning," Ranma sang out. "My name is Saotome Ranma! I previously attended Furinkan – and yes the rumors are mostly true. I enjoy martial arts and ice cream. Pleased ta meet'cha."

A somewhat hesitant greeting was returned, though two figures were clearly heard. Seeing them finally, Ranma smirked and waved. "Mission accomplished," she mused. It wasn't like she could fit in for long anyway, so best to get the weird out and up front early.

"Alright, Saotome-san, if you would please sit beside... Hijiro-san. Yes. Hijiro-san, please assist Saotome-san today, if you would."

"Yes, Sensei."

Spotting the speaker – a sharp-eyed and attentive young woman who would have reminded Ranma of Nabiki if she smiled more, the redhead made a short path to her seat. Smiling at the young woman, Ranma noted her class rank pin, and one beside it denoting her as the class representative. "Thanks for watching over me, Hijiro-san," Ranma offered with her usual grin.

"Just Konoe, unless you need me as class rep," the other girl replied, shooting Ranma a slow smile. "Anything you need, so far?"

Ranma shook her head, her braid escaping to drape over a shoulder. "Nah, I'm good. Unless you know a good place to get some peace and quiet later for lunch. Not up for the usual interrogation, if you get my drift."

Konoe regarded the new girl for a long moment, before her smile turned a bit more genuine. "You're a troublemaker. But I like you. Just follow me at lunch, I'll show you a good spot."  
Her lazy grin escalating into a full-blown smile, Ranma laughed quietly. "Ah, figured me out already. And thanks, I appreciate it."

Remarkably, the desire to prove her father wrong and impress her mother translated into a good effort – if badly executed, by one Ranma Saotome. Having very little in the way of good note-taking skills yet – her tutors had to really cram the backlog down her throat – or a grasp of the current material being covered, she took to keeping an eye on her book, an ear on the teacher, and her hand moving as fast as possible taking notes, on anything not present in her texts. An occasional sweep of the chalkboard was made every so often, to make sure nothing was missed.

This resulted in some wide eyes, and a few whispered questions, considering Ranma's hand was moving too fast to make out other than a blur. Ranma quietly thanked whoever came up with Martial Arts Calligraphy – she knew the friction-reduced paper and non-flammable ink would come in handy, some day. Sparing the rest of the class a brief look during a point when the teacher checked his own material, she noted quite a bit less note-taking was going on that what she was doing. Sending a sulky frown at the blonde two rows away, she was met with a slight smirk and shrug.

"Good tutors, lousy sense of humor," Ranma groused, though her mood was still light. When the break for the next class began, she was up and slipping through the people coming to speak to her before most knew she'd moved, leaving half the class blinking at a suddenly empty desk.

Slipping up beside an unwary mop of styled blonde hair, Ranma reached around and pulled at the other student's cheeks. "Ne, Ha-ru-ka-san," she sing-songed, while her target flailed in surprise. "You seem to have forgotten note-taking in my lessons."

Michiru giggled from her seat to Haruka's left, quietly amused at her lover's ill-fortune. "But Ranma, you were so eager to work with little Hotaru, we ran out of time."

"Oi, leggo tomboy!" The irony of that demand from Haruka Tenou of all people left the other two snickering, until finally Ranma just fell over from laughter. Patting her abused face, the blonde turned in her chair, shooting a glare to the redhead behind her. "You're lucky you're so good at martial arts, or I'd work you over, brat."

Ranma displayed her maturity by sticking her tongue out at the other male-uniformed girl with a loud 'Bidaaaaaa'. Hopping back to her feet, the redhead dusted herself off. "So, how is Taru-chan?"

"She's well," Michiru answered, a calm smile spreading over her face. "And she misses her Ranma-sensei. Setsuna is taking up getting her around, while we finish our last year here as well."

"Oh, right that Mugen place blew up, didn't it?"

Haruka and Michiru spared one another an amused look. "More or less," the blonde replied. "Turns out our college applications still had us as incomplete. So were back to do exams and finish up," poking the redhead in the shoulder, Haruka smirked. "But we told you about that. Get knocked about the head once too often, tomboy?"

Ranma swatted the hand away, rolling her eyes. "Nah, just assumed you'd be goin' to a prep school, or cram school." Sighting the clock, she sent the two girls a little wave. "Gonna go sit down, I'll see you two after school, yeah?"

"Sure, you're coming over this afternoon?"

Shaking her head at Michiru's question, Ranma replied, "Nah, first day. Mom'd skin me if I didn't get home and report in. Tell Suna and Taru-chan that I said hi, though." The two older students waved as Ranma settled back in her seat. Haruka couldn't help but snicker, thinking back on the stunned look on Setsuna's face at Ranma's pet-name for her. It was so rare that the elder Senshi got rattled that Michiru had managed to snap a picture, commemorating the event.

Ranma had obliged by adding to the situation, sneaking behind the typically unflappable Setsuna and giving her a pair of rabbit-ears, to boot.

"Certainly never a dull moment, when she's around," Michiru quipped, mirroring her companion's thoughts.

–

Lunch had come and gone, much to Ranma's regret, and she'd followed Konoe Hijiro to where she'd promised a quiet spot to be. It just happened to be a tree nearby a small table, occupied by Hijiro's friends. Understanding the unstated invitation, Ranma had introduced herself, and made smalltalk while covertly sampling some other girl's bentos.

Mom had only packed one, after all.

Michiru and Haruka had come by for a moment, just to say hello, and Ranma accidentally displayed a fraction of her martial prowess, leaping up and backwards over Haruka from her seat, to avoid a retaliatory strike from the blonde for earlier in the day. That would have been bad enough, but she'd kept her bento, and continued eating while dodging the smirking blonde. After seeing the two girls who had mentioned sports interests eying her like a delicious slice of cake, Ranma realized she'd been set up. The look on the blonde's face only confirmed her suspicions.

Adopting a pose she had called "Curse of the Demon Monkey" (head slightly tilted back, eyes wide, arm outstretched while pointing to the target who was at an angle from the body...), Ranma silently promised her vengeance. School sports would be annoying enough, at her level – dodging their recruiters would be a nightmare!

Hotaru had asked why she given such a silly name to pointing angrily at someone, and Ranma had promised to get a video of her father performing the "Carp on a Chopping Board" submission posture some day as way of explanation. For the time being, she'd just explained that her style of martial arts had a tradition of silly names.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Ranma found herself humming happily beside a serenely pleased Nodoka, walking back home after her first day. "I'm so proud of you, Ranma. No trouble at all!"

"Awe, you had to go and jinx me, didn't ya," the younger redhead muttered.

"Watch your speech, Ranma," Nodoka chided. "But yes, I do understand it likely won't last. That is something I wanted to speak with you about."

A familiar sense of foreboding swept over the young martial artist. "Oh?"

The elder Saotome woman nodded. "I understand that your honor and the way of Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū, won't allow you to decline a formal challenge. From now on, I want you to work on avoiding conflict at school, if possible."

"But what if they challenge me there?" Ranma asked, confused.

"Try to emphasize how important it is to formally challenge you, with a set time, place, and in writing. I've been scouting out places for such challenges today.

"For small informal matches, we can of course use the house yard. If you can restrict the combat to only physical means, this would be best. Formal ones can held in aunt Reiko's son's Dojo. For more... drastic challenges, there is an empty lot two blocks from home that I believe will be placed under construction come winter. After that, you may need another.

"And in the event you need to use your... other form... please try to do so either very quickly, and then get very far from where you were, or take it somewhere outside of Minato. Far outside, if possible."

Ranma blinked at the small deluge of information, pausing in her walk at the last few words. "Um, why? I mean I know this isn't Nerima and that... well I'm a bit scary like that, but..."

Nodoka turned, pulling her child gently into a small nearby cafe. Taking a seat, they gave the waitress their orders and waited for soup and drinks to be delivered. "For one," the elder Saotome explained, "You are most correct. This is not Nerima, and the police here are rather strict. A match with someone like Ryoga, out in the open may get either or both of you shot, law suits for damages set against you, and criminal charges filed," she explained, the venom dripping from her voice at the mention of the Lost Boy. Quieter, she continued. "Then, of course, there are the Senshi."

The cup of soup paused, halfway to Ranma's mouth. "The... you mean they're_ real?_"

"Oh, yes. I've seen them twice myself, since living near Juuban."

"Huh," Ranma mumbled, bending her mind around the pop culture sensation that the Senshi had sparked. Since she was going to a Juuban High School, it may do her some good to get familiar with the rumors, the redhead mused. No sense sticking out like an uninformed moron, after all. Another thought occurred to her, and Ranma immediately brightened. "So, then all the talk of monsters out here is real?"

"Ranma," her mother warned with a hand up to keep her child quiet. "Do not take those things lightly. What you do, what we're training you to take on, and what the Senshi do are in no way similar. Don't make me grieve you again, this time over foolish pride."

Chided, Ranma nodded, "I got it, mom."

Nodoka smirked, a familiar expression between the two. "Now, I make no illusions on knowing you will at some point come across either the Senshi or their enemies. I know your luck too well... daughter," she reasoned, still hesitant to use the feminine term for her child, however. "Just if you do so, please! Please do not reveal your other form. They will likely not speak first before attacking, and I don't know what could happen to you."

Now_ that_, Ranma allowed, was a good thing to think about. The last thing she really needed while here and starting over was a mob of magically enhanced girls in short skirts trying to zap her with spells. Even if they did have really, really dumb sounding spells. "I'll be careful, mom. Uh, does that mean...?"

"Yes, no more practicing in that form at home, I'm afraid. Weekend trips will have to do."

"Damn."

Nodoka frowned, bopping the younger woman with her spoon. "Language, Ranma."  
"Sorry, mom."

Nodding, the older woman paused, expression showing her thoughts. "Now, that is an idea... hmm. Perhaps I have an alternative, but I'll need a bit of time to speak with Ge-," she coughed, apparently choking on something. "Er, that is,_ someone_ about it."

Ranma blinked at the obvious lie, letting it pass. Wow, did she get_ that_ from her mother too?

–

The following day she was surprised to see her father waiting at home, while her mother sat off to the side slightly, the ceremonial Saotome blade laid across her lap. "So... Ranma," the older man bit out uncomfortably, eying his estranged wife anxiously. "Come outside with me, for a moment."

Ranma shot her mother a look, and she returned a nod. Looking back to the man who had caused her so much pain and strife, Ranma motioned toward the back patio and attached yard.

As most conversations between the two began, it did so with fists. Ranma remained both female and unperturbed by her father's jibes, which oddly, made the old man smile quietly. Their contest went significantly longer than usual, as the usual 'finish line' present at the Tendo home was not, at Ranma's new home. Without a pond to kick one another into, the match went on until one of the other gave in. In an act of foreshadowing, Genma slipped from Ranma's awareness, causing a brief moment of confusion, before the redhead hissed with annoyance, dropping to her stomach quickly to avoid the Umisenken's debilitating_ Haku Dato Shin Shō_ – the White Snake Venom Reliable Fist. Rather than the rapid ki-enhanced strikes she'd been expecting at her back, Genma came back into view in a neutral posture in the same place he'd disappeared, as Ranma kipped back up with a defensive whirling roundhouse. Seeing her father a few steps away waiting patiently, Ranma blinked, then took a matching loose stance.

"So, what's on your mind Pops?"

By mutual agreement, their spar was over and it was clear Ranma had improved further, Genma noted. Oh, there were no new techniques, but she was smoother, his transitions and changes in movement more fluid and instant. She'd stopped thinking the Art, and was becoming the Art more, daily. Genma was pleased and nostalgic of old times, if somewhat bitter that he'd not seen the beginning of this change in his estranged son. Not the only change, either, he amended silently, noting the..._ girl's_ ease at compensating for the lost strength with a matching boost in speed. "I've reconsidered a decision."

Ranma was too pragmatic to think the old man was talking about the engagement regardless of how the reality of it all was changing, so just stood by the tree she'd adopted as a place to sit, leaning back idly against it as a silent dare to restart their spar. It wasn't often she got to fight anyone with real talent and skill anymore, since moving to the Shinjuku-Minato area, and she hoped to continue after their chat. "Which one?"

"I want you to improve the sealed styles."

There was a long silence between them, before Ranma took a deep breath. Her sigh ruffled the bangs hanging across her eyes. "Why? I mean, you sealed them because they're dangerous. Most any of the techniques can kill someone who's not trained for years."

Genma nodded solemnly. "You are my heir, Ranma, and beyond the framework that defines Anything Goes, those styles are_ ours_. As with the Art itself, I want you to take and improve them, making them yours. Make what changes you want – add and remove as you see fit."

Ranma nearly staggered where she stood, at that. This was a very big deal... her father was basically writing her a blank check to do whatever she liked with the techniques he had created. That made her wary. The old man never did anything without a motive. "What's the catch?" Ranma asked.

With a resigned expression, Genma merely shook his head. "Consider it a... coming of age present. You've proven to be honorable in combat above and beyond anything I've tried to do. A year ago you proved that, only resorting to a killing blow to save another while knowing the styles." Ranma managed not to flinch at that, though it was a work of will. "If for no other reason, I think that proves you worthy to take on the ideas behind the scrolls and make something more out of them."

Tilting her head slightly, the redhead noted the slight drawing-aside of one of the blinds, as well as her father's furtive glances that way. Putting the pieces together, she shook her head. "...So mom bullied you into it?"

Genma's eye twitched as he slumped in place. "The woman is a... formidable opponent."

Ranma nodded, understanding her father's intent, and quietly grateful for her mother's interference. This would do a lot to cut down on her anxiety about monster attacks, as well as give her an edge since she wasn't born female to train with her mother in her family style. If she didn't need to rely on her other form, then likely the Senshi wouldn't take pot-shots at her for fun. The excuse to show Genma was worried about her warmed her as well. They might get along very badly, but she was still the old man's child – these small moments were all Ranma knew, after all.

With a grin, Ranma nodded, mind already whirring with possibilities. "I get it. Alright, I'll do it. I know we don't see eye to eye on a lot, Pop, but this is the Art. This we get each other on."

"Indeed, Bo... Ranma. Now, less talk."

And the sparring resumed.

–

A month after school had began found a curious scene, in the neighboring ward to both Minato and Shinjuku – Chiyoda, home to the Diet building and no small number of cultural landmarks, was also home to the target of a number of young women.

To her chagrin, Ranma Saotome was among them. "C'mon guys, I really don't need ta go to Akihabara too!"

Hotaru Tomoe looked up to her recent idol with wide eyes. "But, Sensei..."

Ranma drew back at the little girl's wide-misty-eyes attack. "You know," she muttered to herself, "you'd think I'd be immune ta that, as often as I do it."

"What was that, Sensei?"

"N-Nothin'," Ranma replied, wincing as her mother arched a brow. "Right. Talk proper, sorry mom."

Nodoka grinned slightly. "You slip sometimes when you're flustered. But there's no need to be – we're just accompanying little Hotaru's guardians, while they let her shop a bit. You and I are going to a little shop there to pick up a few things, but otherwise this isn't nearly as bad as you're making it out to be."

Haruka slung an arm around the redhead's shoulders, ignoring her suddenly stiff posture. "Yeah, lighten up, Ojou," she drawled, before getting elbowed in the ribs.

"'Young Miss', my foot," Ranma groused with a roll of her eyes. Turning back to Nodoka, she asked the question on her mind, "So, what did you wanna take a look at?"

"A new disc-player and possibly an entertainment system," she replied, blinking at the odd looks she was getting. "What?"

Ranma shook her head hard. "Nothin'. Just... that's so_ normal_ it surprised me."

A musical laugh signaled Michiru's amusement. "You sound like there's hardly a normal day in your lives." The civilian Senshi missed the veiled looks the two Saotome women shared.

"Perhaps we could make a side trip to Harajuku?" The Meiou household nodded in agreement to Setsuna's idea. Clothes shopping was always a good reason for a side-trip. Besides, they were all well aware of the elder Senshi's hobby with fashion.

Nodoka shot Ranma a warning look before answering. "I think that sounds marvelous. Ranma needs a little expanding on her wardrobe."

"Say mom, Pops wanted me to work on those-"

"If you 'fade' during this trip, I'm cutting off your soap and kettle privileges," Ranma's mother added in a deceptively light tone. Getting the point – her mother would hide her limited supply of waterproof soap and ground her from the hot water – Ranma wisely clammed up. Not that she'd use the initial stage of the Umisenken just to get out of shopping.

Really.

The trip had gone surprisingly well, with Setsuna along. The moderating presence of the college-age woman kept the younger members of the Meiou household from harassing Ranma too much, while also giving them the 'right' kind of advice when clothes shopping.

To Ranma, it was maybe... just_ maybe_ a little fun. She was allowed to try on her own styles, got actual critique for it, and even some tasteful suggestions for a few 'girly' items – not that she called them that. Her mother's time hammering her vocabulary and speech patterns into something reasonable had decent results, after all. "Mm, no. Too many frills, and that ribbon is too much. Way too feminine for my taste, Suna-chan."

Setsuna nodded, taking in Ranma's figure for a moment. "It's a pity you dislike most dresses. They would accent your body rather well, if the ensemble was done properly," she assessed with quiet focus. Almost absently she added, "And don't call me that."

Ranma blushed slightly at the compliment, suddenly curious. She respected Setsuna a lot, considering all she did to help with the school, her family, and still managed to have time for her friends and a social life. She was also rather pretty. "Hmm. Well. If you can find a dress that doesn't..."

"Push at your style?"

"Yeah, that works. If you can find one, I'll give it a try."

Taking up the challenge, Setsuna grinned. "Just give me a few minutes."

Ranma was pleasantly surprised when a smiling Setsuna – a rarity even at her own home – showed up with a few small selections over an arm. Off to the side, the rest of the shopping party watched in a slight daze as someone managed to get the two immovable objects in motion – Ranma's feminine fashion appreciation, and Setsuna's smile.

"This is what's commonly called a cocktail dress," Setsuna indicated a slinky black and white number that she hung on a nearby hook. "Simple design that gets changed a lot. I recall you don't like being eyed a lot when I've seen you out with your mother, or my roommates, so I picked out a longer one, that's flattering, but has a ruffled drape on the front."

"Ruffled what?"

Setsuna grinned wryly. "There's a bit of material that'll offset your bustline and make it seem less... pronounced."

Ranma nodded happily at that. Guys did tend to oogle her boobs far too much for her taste. That was part of why she didn't go in for high fashion, for general use. She didn't want that kind of attention – not to mention the mobility loss. Speaking of... "Part of why I don't like dresses is that I can't move. How low's the skirt, and how loose?"

As if she'd expected that question, Setsuna pointed out various points on the dress. "For one, there aren't any sleeves. Free mobility there. The skirt is knee-length, but slit on the sides with a pleat-gather at the top. Rather than flare, the pleat keeps the slit 'closed', unless you're opening your stride."

"Ok, I like it so far. What's next," Ranma replied, taking the black and white article and putting it in her dressing room pile.

Setsuna held up a familiar cut of clothing. "Thigh-length Cheongsam in black with a red and gold tiger pattern, embroidered over the back and across the left breast," she described, tilting this way and that so Ranma could see the pattern. "Slit again, so you can move. More fitting with your usual image, I think. You do wear a Chinese Tangzhuang very well, and this is more or less the feminine version."

It was a much fancier and more tasteful version of Shampoo's usual outfit, Ranma noted, minus the pants. The neckline was very high, literally up to her neck, while the sleeves were again missing. The dress went as said, to mid-thigh, and Ranma noted how sleek the dress would be on her frame, accenting every curve. She noted two things in Setsuna's hands, and asked about them.

"Miko sleeves," the green-haired woman explained. "They're detached, and tie around where your bicep goes. More for effect, than coverage. You get the exposed shoulder, while keeping the flair."

Ranma appraised the outfit, before nodding again. "I like it. Dunno about the sleeves, but I'll give 'em a try."

"I think you'll like them," Setsuna offered with a beaming smile. "Last but not least – the halter dress," she announced, pulling another selection forward. "This one only came in white. It's low-cut across the back, but widens to a collar at the top. The front is sloped, crossing your collarbones, giving a good view of shoulder. This one's just above the knee, without the slit gathers. The cut keeps it trim."

"I'm beginning to see a trend here," Ranma drawled, noting another dress without sleeves.

Setsuna understood her meaning well enough. "You have magnificent shoulders and arms for your activity level. Rather than become overly-muscular and... well grotesque, you keep it to tone and form. These dresses also pull the eye from danger zones, though when they are noted, it's flattering," the fashion hobbyist explained with a serene smile. "The skirts do the same with the waist. With a pair of low heels, your calves will pull the eye in, rather than your rear."

"What, and deprive the audience from seeing the best child-bearing hips in Japan?" Ranma smirked, throwing a sway into her walk that would have done a runway model proud. "Alright, Suna-chan. I'm sold. And I know you well enough to know those are all perfect fits, or damn close to it."

With a hopeful look on her face, Setsuna offered, "Well, if you want, stay around after we're back and I can do a few fine alterations. I have good hands, as well as a decent eye."

From the sidelines, Haruka and Michiru blinked in odd synchronicity. Leaning close to her lover, Haruka whispered, "Is... is Setsuna_ flirting?_"

Michiru shook her head in confusion. "I don't know. Maybe? That last line was almost blatant enough for even Ranma to get it." Pausing, the aqua-haired woman hummed. "I don't think so, though. I think she's just caught in her particular zone, as it is."

It was almost a look of disappointment that Haruka affected at that. "Ah well. Say, Taru-chan, what do you think?"

The younger – if mentally mature – woman nodded, her bob of dark purple hair swaying to brush her chin. "Setsuna-mama's picked out some things I think Sensei will actually wear." Her eyes widened, a smile spreading across her face. "You think she'll let us see?"

Nodoka chuckled quietly. "Knowing Miss Meiou, I don't think Ranma will have a choice."

As it turned out, Ranma ended up walking out of the store in a green halter dress that Setsuna picked out for her, her other clothes discreetly pushed into ki-space. The issue of undergarments wasn't one – after spending a solid month as a female, Ranma had been a quick convert. That wasn't an easy time for her, however, as unlike a normal young woman, Ranma had little preparation for her body's cycle. Nor did she have the gentle build of hormones that most experienced, as she got the 'crash course' in being female all at once.

She'd just missed it with the Cat-Tongue incident, as it turned out. Though it had taken quite a lot of arguing, discussion, and finally a few days of demonstration, Ranma had given in and decided that with her activity level, pads just weren't cutting it. It still perturbed her having something just sitting in such an intimate place, but the alternative and possible embarrassment were much worse in her mind.

Ranma's mother just sat back and grinned, as her recently realized daughter took one more step toward womanhood. Her son took a step as well, for the day when he'd return to her – one in understanding the fairer sex.

The mood had been so light and pleasant, that it was more than a little jarring when the redhead the group was following froze up just outside the shop, muttering only one word in an arctic tone. "Akane."

Nodoka's face went ashen. "Oh no, not here... not now." The off-duty Senshi spared one another hesitant looks, while their friend and teacher moved forward slowly, putting some distance between herself and the women behind her.

"Ranma," the answering voice was filled with quiet venom. There was a pause, as a short haired girl with a fixed scowl tried to stare the Senshi down. She failed, miserably. Recouping her anger, Akane struck out again. "I see you've wasted no time collecting more hussies to chase after."

"Don't be stupid," Ranma snapped, her posture thawing, angry now. It was jarring to those that knew her, having never seen the redhead's mood shift in such a way. "These are my friends. I'm out with my mother, you idiot tomboy."

Akane faintly vibrated with anger. "Don't call me that," she hissed.

Hotaru tugged on Nodoka's sleeve, getting the older woman's attention. Looking away from the impending disaster took more than a little willpower, however, and she was slow to look down into the questioning eyes of her youngest friend. Absently, she inquired, "Yes, Taru-chan? What is it?"

"Who's the angry lady? Why is she angry at Sensei?"

"I..." shaking her head slowly, Nodoka slumped. "I don't know, little one. I don't know why Akane is so angry, now. I thought this was well behind us."

Haruka stood forward, Setsuna beside her, unconsciously putting more screen between the obviously upcoming fight and their less sturdy companions. "That's... interesting and all, but who_ is_ she?"

"Ranma's former fiancee," Nodoka whispered hoarsely.

Back with the former couple, things were not going well. People were unconsciously making room, clearing as much space as they could on the busy sidewalks. Even drivers in their cars seemed to sense something was wrong, giving the two angry young women a wide margin. "You don't got the right to question me anymore, Tendo," Ranma pointed out, her voice glacial. "So don't come up to me and start your usual brand of stupid."

Stepping up beside her furious sister, Nabiki shot Ranma a withering look. "C'mon sis, he isn't worth it."

"Funny coming from an extortionist who paid her college funds offa me," Ranma snarled, her aura flaring wildly around her. Years of pent up anger and resentment were breaking loose, coming undone in minutes within the redheaded martial artist. After six months of peace and relative calm, the sharp contrast that her previous life had been cut like a serrated blade against her calm.

Nabiki froze, feeling for the first time the amount of threat one of the fighters from Nerima could muster aimed directly at her. Knowing well what Ranma could do to a seasoned practitioner of the Art, she quailed and backed away, knowing well enough she'd put up about as much of a fight as a week-old kitten. To her shame, she couldn't meet the angry Saotome's eyes as she backed up to the sidewalk, across the way as she abandoned her sister.

Ranma returned her attention to the youngest Tendo, who was looking back at her sister incredulously. "So, what's it gonna be, tomboy?" She asked, before a feral light lit in her eyes. "Oh, how about this – I challenge you! Here, in public. Lets see if your daddy's-girl ego can stand up to the test."

Akane blanched, the amount of sheer anger and hate rolling off Ranma building a flickering aura around her. To her further anxiety, a heat shimmer seemed to be shifting behind her former fiance. Recalling the reason why Ranma was no longer her betrothed, Akane backed up a step, "N-No, I don't-"

"Unacceptable!" Ranma barked, ki laced through her voice. Akane's back straightened out of instinct. "The third tenet of Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū, 'You must accept any and all formal challenges!'. Either accept the challenge, or forfeit your claim to be part of the School!"

Looking wildly around her, Akane saw no help. No one to bail her out – and then the realization hit her like she imagined she'd been feeling at her ex's hands shortly. Ranma was the one always coming to her rescue. Sure, she'd had a few adventures of her own, and one had nearly cost her dearly recently, but she always managed. Now, however, a real threat was there... and this time there wasn't anyone to save her. Anger and pride welled up in the youngest Tendo, and she glared back at Ranma. She could do this – Ranma wasn't so tough. She could always get him when she meant to, when he'd been a pervert, or done something to make her angry. That was it – right! He wasn't all that good. She_ could_ do this.

"Fine," Akane casually accepted, dropping into a ready stance. "Terms?"

Ranma's grin became sharklike. "I'm sick o'people claimin' to be part of the Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū, offa my reputation for it. So lets make this really good. If I loose, I give up the Art."

Akane's pupils narrowed to pinpricks. 'He was serious! Give up the Art?! He'd rather die...' Shaking off her anxiety, Akane nodded. "Fine. And if I lose-"

"You do the same," Ranma interrupted, her toothy grin never wavering.

Nodoka stepped forward, her face serious. "Are you two sure of this?"

A frisson of worry crept up Akane's spine, but her anger and pride shrugged it away. "Yeah, it's fine. Who's our judge?"

"I will be," Nodoka murmured, "there's no one else qualified nearby."

Akane eyed the woman critically. "Yeah, you're his mother. You sure you can be fair?"

"Do you want two challengers today, Tendo?" Nodoka snapped, jolting the girl. "Question my honor again, and mine will be with live steel, you honorless little-" she cut off, as Ranma clamped a hand over her arm, shaking her head.

Reeling from the sudden anger that Nodoka had lashed out with, Akane began to have doubts. 'What did I get myself into? I should have just walked by. There wasn't any reason for me to call him out...'

_'You wanted to make him feel as bad as you did. You hated to see him smiling, and you wanted to erase that,'_ a snide voice in her head replied to her own rather thin regret.

Akane wondered, as she dropped into a stance, 'Am I really so petty?' Silence answered the obvious question.

Nodoka took her place, as the two young women stood ready. Hotaru took that moment to speed out and grab onto Ranma's arm, pulling her down. The younger girl pushed a kiss onto Ranma's cheek, grinning happily, "For luck!" She chirped, running back to where Setsuna waited with an expression of deadly calm.

As Nodoka announced the match start, Akane sneered, "A little young for you? Oh, never mind – I should know a pervert like you would be into that."

"Wrong answer," Ranma growled, dropping her usual tactic of drawing an attacker in, going full into offense immediately. A cold grin swept across her features, as she roared,_** "Freeze!"**_ in a ki-drenched voice.

Predictably, Akane's body locked up, as the Yamasenken's opening technique slammed into her like paralytic venom. She had enough time to mutter a faint "Wha...?" before Ranma was on her.

"_Mōko Kaimon Ha_," the redhead growled, transferring all her momentum into a wickedly harsh forward kick after knocking Akane's feeble block aside. The youngest Tendo bent around the kick, before inertia reasserted itself, throwing the young woman back across the street in an uncontrolled skid.

From her place behind a nearby table, Nabiki went deathly pale. She remembered Ryū Kamon, and the Yamasenken from when Ranma had to train against it. That he would first go on an immediate offense, then do so this way... "Oh little sis, I hope you come out of this in better shape than Ryoga did."

From her vantage in a world of pain, Akane could only gasp and try to get her breathing back under control. Ancestors, that had hurt! What the hell was Ranma thinking, opening up like that? A glance up through watery eyes told her volumes of what her former fiance was thinking, as she met storm-blue eyes. Anger, betrayal, hate, loss... Akane swallowed and looked away.

"That was just ta let you know I'm serious," Ranma ground out between clenched teeth. The urge to run up and continue her attack on Akane while down was something she could practically taste. She wanted it. She wanted it so bad, to repay all the pain she'd felt for over two years.

That would make her no better than Akane.

She was_ definitely_ better than Akane.

So instead, she put her thoughts out on the table. "Six months, Akane. Six months ta think about what I'd say, when this happened. And oh, I knew one day it would.

"I trusted you. I fought for you. I put up with your jealousy, your pride, your misplaced shame... all of it." Snarling, Ranma fought back the tears, "I gave up everything for you, you stupid... argh! An' what do you do? You fucking screw that.. that... " throwing her hands up, Ranma screamed, a sickly red-shot green blast rocketing away from her into the clear blue above. Almost as an afterthought she muttered a faint "_Shishi Hōkōdan_," before returning her now-dulled glare back to her former fiancee.

"You never did anything to make me feel special," Akane quietly accused. "You always let those girls hang off you, never really pushed them away. I always felt like you were just one step away from throwing me aside." Ranma's anger cooled, but she didn't drop her posture, as Akane kept speaking, as she rose. She didn't hesitate – leading in fast and hard, she snapped out a combination of kicks and punches at blinding speed. Blinding to anyone but Ranma. Frustration built up as Akane continued to fail to push her former fiance to even block. "Hell, you did everything you could to make me feel like dirt, you jerk. All the insults, mocking me, never taking me seriously!"

"There's nothin' serious about you," Ranma sneered, reaching through Akane's stance, before bending her double over a knee that cracked ribs. She continued with her momentum, walking away with her back turned to the now-gasping Tendo. "You asked ta be my friend, then less than an hour later, insulted me in the worst way possible," Ranma replied, eyes still dull. "You know what kinda things I saw on the road, Tendo? There's a reason our School has a rule ta protect the weak. I've seen what that kind of person does to others. Real perverts. But ya know what? You're just an ignorant little bitch. Nothin' more. A daddy's girl with no idea what the world is actually like." She met Akane's pained eyes with a glare that would have sheared steel. "We needed to eat, out on the road. Eventually, Pops ran outta options, and made me work security at some whorehouses when we were out there-"

"Bet you enjoyed that, you pe-"

_**"Shut up!"**_ Ranma roared, stomping her foot hard enough to crack the pavement, sending up debris she sent hurtling at Akane in a flurry of punches. "Don't you fuckin'_ dare!_ I saw what scum like that did to people! I saw what kinda shit men did,_ women_ did, just to get off. You fuckin' don't know me, Tendo. You don't know a damn thing!"

Akane cried out, as the hundreds of pieces of broken concrete slammed into her crossed arms, ripping cuts and embedding in her skin. 'I never knew,' she kept repeating inside her mind. Sure, she'd seen the flash of hatred in Ranma's eyes when long ago she'd called him that, but he was a boy. Boys were perverts.

Right?

Bleary-eyed from pained tears, Akane started circling the other girl, surreptitiously picking her arms clear of the debris she'd been attacked with. She'd been on the defensive since their match began, and it looked... bad. Akane's pride couldn't stand in the face of all that Ranma had done. Sure, she seemed to be able to hit him, strike him with a mallet, or a table whenever she felt the need to, but this was really different. Ranma, she realized with a sudden sharp fear, wasn't playing around anymore. Still, she wouldn't just sit back and let him claim whatever he wanted. Again she tried to close the distance, using what instinct she had for ki to form her old standby. The mallet sped through the air, "So, what did it mean when you snuck in my room, huh? What was that?" It missed – worse, Ranma just slapped it away, the ki shattering like so much thin glass.

Ranma seemed to waver a moment at her question, before snarling. "I only did that when your damn pig was there. Somethin' even a stupid tomboy like you should have figured out, by now," the redhead bit out, circling Akane as well, her stance never settling in her fluid half-kata. As Akane blinked at her now-bleeding hands where the ki-construct had shattered, she tried to come to grips with what just happened. He... he_ destroyed_ it. He could have done that any time, couldn't he? What the hell...?!

Her mind refused to settle on that. She couldn't lose! Not to him! "What do you have against P-chan?! It makes no sense!"

"Oh come on, Akane! How many times have I called Ryoga names, havin' to do with pigs? How many times have we found either him or that damn pig around, just after losing the other? Did you miss the fact he claimed to have gotten cursed at Jusenkyo, too? How about how he's always tryin' to screw with whatever cures we found?"

Akane's mouth worked silently for a moment, as her brain finally slid the pieces together. And when she saw the full picture, her body rebelled, as bile rose in her throat. "Oh... oh god. I... I told him everything! He slept in the same bed..."

"An' who do you think he took all that back to, huh? Who was it, when he started throwin' all your secrets around, you blamed for it? Every damn time, Akane! Every. Damn._ Time!_ You picked him over me. Hell, when I found you fuckin' the little pig, I was almost disappointed. I'd been expectin' it for months, by then."

The accusation ran fire through her veins. He'd thought that little of her? How dare he! Her attempts to hit her former betrothed grew wild, unmeasured. She stumbled as often as she was thrown, and knew this wasn't going to end well. Still, she'd not take his words lying down. Two could play that game, "Well screw you, Ranma! What about your Chinese floozy? What about your 'cute fiancee', Ucchan? Bet you've done the same."

"You're a real piece o'work," Ranma mused with a derisive laugh, taking a feint and wrenching Akane's arm out of socket almost idly. She screamed, but cut off quickly when the redhead spun her around by that arm, brutally dragging her into the ground. The momentum painfully continued, robbing her of breath. Worse, Ranma pushed a foot behind her head, and ground the broken pavement across her face. Above her sudden world made of what felt like broken glass, Ranma's words seemed chipped from ice. "If I screwed Shampoo, I'd have already been back in China. I never touched her willingly, which is why she always latched on ta me. If I pushed her off, where'd I push? See it now, tomboy? That stupid Kiss is like all their laws – they work for them, and them alone.

"And Ucchan..." Ranma laughed openly this time, simply tossing her battered body aside. "I grew up thinkin' she was a boy, Akane! When I called her cute, it was more ta say she made a lousy boy, not a pretty girl! Ucchan's my best friend, but that's it." Ranma gagged a moment, shaking herself. "I'd be like kissin' my sister!"

"Then why'd you string them along?" Akane asked wearily, hands shaking as they came back bloody from her face. 'Dear god, did he hate me that much...?'

"What was I supposed ta do? Shampoo's laws say she either comes back with me, or she gets the next step for bein' a failure. Curse locked, Akane. Think about it. How'd you like to be a damn animal till you die? How'd you like ta be the one to cause it to someone else?

"And as for Ucchan, look at Pops. He's the one that screwed her life up, but I get to come along and fix it. Rejectin' her puts her dad in a tight spot, that ends with a blood-feud between us. And I ain't gonna kill Ucchan!"

Akane faltered, never having seen things from Ranma's point of view, before. Why hadn't he just explained this?_ 'Like you'd let him,'_ her traitorous conscious reminded her._ 'You never gave him the chance. It took him beating you down in the street to make you listen.'_

"What about me?" She asked finally, quietly.

Ranma gaped at her. "What_ about_ you? You miss me sayin' you betrayed me within an hour of meetin' ya? I gave you so many damn chances, that it just became habit to deal with you and your damn temper. Sure I was a jerk, but if I ain't teasin' ya, I don't even consider ya worth my time. But I held on thinkin' one day – one day, you'd look back at me like I was lookin' up at you."

"Ranma..."

Shaking her head, Ranma refused to let the quiet way Akane said her name get to her. "All over now. I'm done with that part o'my life. An' we got a match ta finish," she reminded Akane, her eyes closing down revealing only arctic cold.

And suddenly Akane didn't want to fight anymore. "No," she replied hollowly, "no more, Ranma. I'm done fighting with you." The redhead's face was an open book of confusion. "I give up, Ranma. You win."

Stunned, Ranma's mouth worked silently for a moment, as she tried to piece together some kind of response. She wasn't done! There was more she had to say – a_ lot_ more! The chance was stolen, as something huge and terrible and reeking of the sea ripped its way out of the street, sending slabs of pavement flying in all directions.

Time seemed to slow down, as Ranma saw one of those sections – one carrying Akane – go careening into a nearby building, cracking as it impacted the side with a bass rumble. As it hit with the side where Akane was, just a moment before.

Where Akane was...

Where was Akane...?

Ranma's eyes refused to fix on the red stain on the side of the building. She refused to see it. Refused. Refused! REFUSED!

Instead, she looked back at the thing that had come.

–

"Selene," Setsuna breathed, her eyes wide. "A Broken One. Why is there a Broken One here!?"

The other Senshi looked around for a place to shift into their transformed states, but paused as Hotaru gasped. "Sensei!"

Nodoka was not one to be outdone. "Son, no! Run!"

–

Ranma couldn't hear them. Not right now, when all her world revolved around hurt and anger and rage.

And she could feel the magic in her soul singing, trying to claw its way up through her heart, into her brain like viscous oil that would seep and curl around all her private places. All the things that were her, making her something else.

She didn't need it. She refused it.

Just like she refused the thing shambling towards her, in the street. First though, she had people to protect. Then she could... she could...

She'd know when the time came.

–

When Ranma suddenly faded from view, the onlookers – her friends and Nabiki – began to panic. It wasn't that they expected Ranma to simply stand there and protect them, so much as the fact that the redhead was at least a_ sane_ thing to focus on. Without her there, the true horror of the thing before them was apparent.

It stood easily three meters tall, and with its hunched posture, could probably nearly double it, were it to stand erect on its misshapen back legs. All six of its limbs were webbed, knobby, and covered in a slime of wetness over rubbery looking skin. The thing's body was a grotesque amalgam of skeletal emaciation, tentacles, and bulging, pulsing pustules that promised disease and rot. If anything, the head was even more terrible, as it looked as if that rubbery skin had been stretched over a mockery of a human face, leaving no features... but that face was only part of the madness there. It was fixed upon the thing's forehead, as if in afterthought in its creation. Below that horrid mockery, three eyes rolled in sockets that seemed stolen from a chameleon, and sat on either side of a muzzle that seemed to only be made for ripping and tearing. No lips contained those teeth, and little flesh was spared to contain the massive maw, ringed by more grasping ropes of flesh that writhed with a seeming mind of their own.

With its previous prey suddenly disappearing, the thing seemed to scent the air, looking for new targets. Six eyes fixed on Hotaru, and the featureless face – shrouded and pressed up against its sheath of skin – seemed to smile.

–

Ranma ripped a massive blanket from her ki-space, the thing being a mainstay of the Umisenken style. She silently sent a small prayer of thanks to her father, for unlocking her use of the styles, which would – hopefully – let her keep people safe today.

Appearing behind Nabiki, she swept the girl into the blanket first, improvising the_ Yasha Tankai Hō_ to suit her needs. The "Demon-Guardian Searching the Sea Wrap" as her father had named it, was a technique designed to counter the vacuum blades of the Yamasenken, by creating a veritable mountain of debris, and a shield of material that would soak up the blade's attack. Basically, you collected stuff to block it, in your blanket. A very big blanket.

Ranma was banking on the fact she could probably get everyone the hell out of the way with it too. Dropping back out of sight, she pushed herself as hard as she could, reaching her mother and friends a few moments before the Broken One reached them. Her sudden appearance with a squirming, screaming sack of a blanket must have unnerved them terribly, because they simply stood rooted in place as she deftly whipped the thing around them, using ki to reinforce, expand, and hold the thing together.

Burdened but relieved, Ranma flipped over the monster's first attack, hurling herself up and over the thing, before she launched herself high in the air and toward a nearby roof. Hopefully everyone would be safe there, while she dealt with the monster.

–

Six people were dumped unceremoniously on the roof, as Ranma whipped the massive blanket she'd used away, stuffing it into her ki-space while in mid-jump back to the street and the waiting horror there.

Horror was a good word for the expressions on the Senshi's faces, seeing one of their friends try to protect them from an eldritch being. Setsuna was the first on her feet, quickly followed by a panicking Hotaru, "Ranma, no! Wait!"

A hand on either of their shoulders held the two back, keeping them from jumping down as well. Hotaru vainly struggled, but was held fast. "Nodoka, please! We have to help her!"

The serene but focused gaze on her face stalled the other two Outer Senshi, while Setsuna and Hotaru spared each other glances and nervous looks to the street. Finally, she spoke. "Please do not judge my son for what he may do. Just remember who he is, and what he is to you."

Michiru seemed to be the most confused by this, but it was only an illusion due to her more open face. "Son? Him? What? Who are you talking about?"

Stress had caused her – much like Ranma and his speech – to fall back onto familiar patterns. Understanding this too late, Nodoka tried to salvage her mistake. "Ranma is a very special person, and her experiences have prepared her for the most trying opponents. Yes I'm worried, but this thing is nothing, compared to what..._ she's_ dealt with."

Setsuna was not prone to being pleased at surprises. 'No,' she amended, 'I do enjoy them, just not at the cost of my sanity.' And this did seem to bring that point most decidedly home. Broken Ones were not idle enemies, and to find one in Japan was almost unheard of. Europe was quite rotten with the traces of such blasphemy, and there were parts of the Americas were the rot was so deep it could spawn volcanoes. The reason was easy, really. Humans were always motivated by power, and the kind of power that Broken Ones promised didn't quite... mesh, if that was a good term, with the things that most often tempted the Japanese.

Then, there was Ranma. Small, cute, outgoing, somewhat awkward, somewhat damaged Ranma. Who was she? Contrary to what most believed, guarding the Time Gates did not mean one was stationed there, watching them like some kind of voyeur's paradise. If time could be compared to a sea, she was the Admiral of a fleet that kept the lanes clear, not Poseidon with his trident. Her hand was in most of Earth's known history, but for the most part, she didn't obsess or spend any more time at them than needed. Even when she was monitoring, she did so without actually watching the flow of time. To do so would tempt even her to meddle beyond her mandate.

Chibiusa was proof she wasn't infallible in that way.

What Setsuna had finally realized, was that she had no idea what this elfin young woman was. Who, what made her into the thing she had become. There were hints of tragedy – they all heard what went on between the two young women earlier – but the true depth was lost to them.

Apparently, so was her skill.

Haruka sank to the rooftop, her eyes wide and unbelieving. "Wh-What the hell_ is_ she?" Beside her, Michiru kneeled down, trying to force her eyes to her love but had problems pulling them away from the one-sided slaughter going on below them.

Nodoka smiled grimly, pride evident in her voice. "The best."

–

Ranma knew when bravado and taunting insults were appropriate tactics. It amused her that almost everyone she met reacted the same to them. Pops had taught her pretty well in that. This however wasn't a time to jeer and incite rage. She need the Broken One to focus on her, and her alone. Anger only seemed to make the ancient thing unpredictable.

Six eyes, not counting the macabre mockery dwelling upon its brow, tracked her, as she returned to the battlefield. Taunts may not be appropriate, but there were protocols in place, for battles between things like this. "Who's words do you heed, lurker beyond the beneath?"

A trumpeting, fluting, roaring cacophony washed over Ranma, clashing against her mind at the alien nature of its sound. Despite that, the thing that rode within her, that sat silent in threat, spun those awful sounds into ideas, then ideas into words.

"The Beyond All, Render of Veils, Herald of the Soon-To-Be-Unmade has given me providence," the thing had said.

The thing's words were expected – Broken Ones heeded a single will, their god for all practical purposes, and those names it had spoken weren't unfamiliar to her. Neither was the face, now that she got a clear look at it, seemingly growing from the Outsider's forehead. Ranma blinked, then her vision went red with realization. "You idiot," she hissed, dropping all pretense of holding her ki back as it roared to life around her in black-gold inferno. "You ripped the wall between worlds, for what?" She screamed, dashing forward like a dark comet.

The Broken One slammed its feet into the ground, trying to squash the fleeting insect that troubled it, eyes tracking all around, trying to fix on the frenetic redhead. "Akane will be mine," it burbled in its watery, yowling tongue. "One of my flesh, one of my mind..."

For a moment, Ranma felt a wash of supreme incredulity. First moronic rivals, then immortal adolescents, princes, kings... and now, idiot sorcerers who bit off far more than they could chew and who had been eaten by their own summoning. "Akane, you have the_ worst_ luck with men," the redhead muttered, slipping up behind the thing, crossing her arms. Ki from her aura brightened along those limbs, sucking at the air greedily, "_Kijin Raishū Dan!_"

Waves of vacuum rocked into the Broken One's hide, sending thick, chunky, slightly fluorescent green muck spattering with no small amount of force. The thing trumpeted its pain in a blaring, undulating sound that cracked glass and sent most onlookers still fool enough to remain to their knees. Wearing her ki like a cloak, Ranma whipped out a smaller blanket from her limited ki-space, feeling the drain of using it so often. "Really need to work on that," she muttered absently, grabbing a broken steel table leg as she sped by it.

Her progress halted as stinging tentacles, barbed cruelly and bearing tiny hooks, lashed out as she came too close to the Broken One. Otherworldly venom ripped through Ranma's blood as the fleshy weapons connected, forcing the redhead to retreat while blindly ripping the things away from her skin, howling in pain. Weals that bled freely were left behind, hooks still embedded into fair skin. More worrisome, Ranma saw the expected venom glands frantically pulsating, still attached to those hooks, pumping their payload into her blood. Gritting her teeth, she slashed the table leg down her arm against the curve of those hooks, ripping strips of flesh away as the barbs refused to be dislodged. She equally refused to look at the mingled blood and poison leaking from her now-ragged arm, knowing her body would deal with it in time. The pain, however, would linger far longer.

Snarling in rage, she lit up the street with a blast of searing black-gold ki, not bothering to focus herself by using a name for her attack. Flesh and bone blasted away from the sudden burst of power, giving her an avenue of attack.

The Broken One screamed again in pain, trying to keep its side to the hated human that caused so much damage to its precious flesh. Its venom would slow and stop the insignificant being, as it had all others. Only... it didn't seem to be working. "What manner of beast are you," it questioned, unheard in that moment before another coruscating beam that stank of unholy fury and righteous ability carved a concave trench through its hide, severing two of its legs at the joint. Blinded by pain, the thing only shuddered, its grip on this world becoming more tenuous as its body was torn apart.

Ranma knew the best way to deal with these creatures was to blind them. Doing so wasn't easy, however, as they had senses far removed from those of normal beings from Earth. Lucky for her, ki could manage, where she refused to heed the siren's call of magic thrumming in her blood. Again she shoved ki into her chosen weapon – the blanket she held. Much like Kodachi's ribbons, will and life reinforced the cloth, reacting to the redhead's whim far easier than it should. Ranma didn't need to look to know it was working, she could just tell.

Besides, her focus was on dodging those few tentacles that struck for her, as she skidded to a halt before the Broken One's head. Spinning in place, she improved three of the Umisenken's steps, for her needs.

"_Goshin Ryūsei Fu,_" she muttered quietly, snapping the cloth around the Broken One's muzzle as she wound it about quickly. The "Self-Protection Shooting Star Cloth" technique was little more than a distraction, usually, where one wrapped another's head in a blinding manner, depriving them of sight. While useful in very general ways, in this case, the ki-soaked cloth served to blind and bind the Broken One's vision, leaving its tentacles without guidance. It would shortly remove the issue, unless she decided to continue...

"_Rigyo Honshin._" The words were spoken quietly, without need to increase her volume. Ranma used the "Carp-Fish Bodyflip" to do a backflip over the Broken One's grotesque head, as the blanket wrapped around it completely, further blinding it and giving her the opening for her third step.

Her triumphant cry was followed by the spinning of the bloody table leg, before she used the sharp broken end to pin the ki-enhanced cloth to the Broken One's own hide, sending the steel through flesh, muscle, and finally bone. Her personal revision for the "High Mountain Reverse Sea Ability", where one used the still-held corners of the blanket with feet planted in the back of the unfortunate target to strangle them, was the "Rising Tide Barrier Reef" –_ Sashishio Mashō_.

With the blanket now wrapped and pinned in place – painfully, Ranma hoped fervently – she was free to finish what would be needed to send the Broken One back through the veil of worlds, where it belonged.

All she needed now was to dispense copious amounts of damage. A fierce grin split her face, as she flipped again, speeding to where she could inflict the most hurt fastest.

Right beneath the Broken One's soft white underbelly, now that its tentacles were blinded. With a roar and a fierce bloodthirsty smile, she called out the thing's death. "_Kijin-Gun Dai Ranbu!_"

–

"Gathering of Fierce Gods, Great Chaotic Dance," Nodoka murmured, as the Broken One was reduced in moments to sprays of gore, broken bone, chunks of flesh and very little else. Vacuum blades ripped out at it from every angle, centered from a nova of destruction that bore the name Ranma.

Silence reigned as the disguised Senshi watched the scene of massacre unfold before them in stark detail. The only other sound to accompany the squelching splatters of otherworldly entrails came from, of all sources, Hotaru.

Laughing and clapping, the Senshi of Ruin watched her teacher utterly annihilate a monster that even she would hesitate to face one on one, knowing her more powerful skills would do far too much collateral damage. She mused, in her most private of thoughts, what someone like Ranma could do with The Silence, with her skill? A thrill shuddered up the young girl's spine. Despite her gentle and caring outward nature, Saturn's Guardian knew precisely what she was. It was hard not to, after the events that occurred during her Awakening. She was a weapon, a final resort, a leashed apocalypse.

Like called to like. Even as she was horrified by the carnage, a kernel of her fundamental self found something absolutely arousing about the power she'd seen. Watching Ranma as she shouldered aside the few remaining vestiges of the Broken One's mortal form, Hotaru licked her lips almost hungrily.

She was pulled from her musing as Nodoka helped Nabiki down, Setsuna and the others lowering themselves to the ground by way of a fire escape. Foregoing that and frankly uncaring of exposure for the moment, Hotaru called on her planet's essence, the transformation rippling through her quickly and without fanfare. Gaining height, definition, and a more mature body, Saturn smoothed her skirt down, as she spent a fraction of a moment debating her motivations, before shoving such thoughts aside. Her Glaive held at rest, she cleared the rooftop with a vaulting jump, landing a few steps before the startled martial artist.

Ranma nearly slipped on the ichorous blood pooled at her feet at the fuku-clad girl's sudden arrival. "Whoa! Hey... um. Oh. You're one the Senshi, right?" Ranma paled at the searing look the violet and black clad girl gave her, striding purposefully forward. Her eyes lingered on the weapon the girl held, and her mind tried to blank at what her senses read from it. "Um, oh. Sorry! I didn't know..._ oh cra_-Mmmph?!"

Haruka blinked, then blinked again, rubbing at her eyes frantically. "Wh-What?"

Nabiki took one look at Ranma, who's braided pig-tail had 'toinged' straight out with her surprise, as she was held in a lip-lock of epic proportions by of all things, a Sailor Senshi. Having no other valid response ready, the middle Tendo palmed her face.

From her place beside Setsuna, Michiru rubbed at the bridge of her nose lightly, thoughts of what she'd need to speak to Hotaru about that night already haunting her. "This... was not the way I expected to learn my daughter shared my lifestyle," the typically elegant woman groused with some exasperation. She mentally prepared her version of the talk – "The Birds and the Bees – Bird-on-Bird Edition" – as she watched their redheaded friend try to disengage from Hotaru's tonsil inspection.

Lips trying to quirk up in a manic smile, Nodoka leaned back against a broken wall as she nearly swooned. "Well, even when he's my daughter, my son is so manly," she declared, imagining grandchildren in Chinese tangs and Sailor fuku running around banishing imps and demons while she served them lemonade and cookies.

Setsuna watched as Nodoka seemed to zone out, then collapse from some kind of blissed-out seizure. Honestly, however, she had little concern for the elder Saotome woman. If Ranma's abilities weren't just a fluke, then her mother would likely be perfectly fine. Besides, she had other things on her mind. Mainly, how in the world she'd managed to get shown up by someone in Junior High School. "That little tramp! How dare she beat me to the punch!"

Two pairs of eyes snapped to Pluto's Guardian, and she realized somewhat belatedly, she'd spoken out loud. Nodoka, semi-conscious on the ground, snapped a small fan up into the air in victory.

–

The hospital waiting room was a tense affair, with far too many reminders of the past represented for Ranma's taste. Oddly, she found a very effective buffer in her new friends, even if they too were a little edgy.

Her mother, on the other hand, was a blight on her world. "So, does anyone know who that young woman was? She was so adorable in her little dress, and that weapon! I just know she'd be a wonderful match for my manly son!"

Ranma massaged her temple as the older redhead went on and on, thankfully forgetting Setsuna's little outburst. Not that she'd missed it, however. The expected reactions from the combined Genma-Tendo front however were enough to keep things far too interesting for her tastes. The question wasn't_ if_ they'd make a scene, but_ when_.

And why was Hotaru practically hiding in the corner, blushing? Strange.

A little spike of trepidation ran through her, as she took in the girl's other guardians. Haruka and Michiru weren't precisely what Ranma would class as being of parenting age – being only a year or so older than her – but then again, neither of them were technically parents. Of the three adults living at the Meiou residence, only Setsuna truly qualified for the title, and she... Somehow Ranma didn't think she was the sort to be tied down to motherhood.

Her anxiety came from what she'd done to the Outsider, in Harajuku. Had she scared Hotaru that much? Was that why the girl's household were giving her odd looks? True, the sealed Senken forms were formidable, and very,_ very_ dangerous, but... Heaving a weary sigh, Ranma stood and moved to look out the nearby window. Then of course, on top of that, there was that random Senshi to consider. She recalled her mother's warnings about them, but to have one leap down after killing an Outsider, and all but rape her mouth? She'd expected harsh words, maybe a fight – not the informal invitation to swap bodily fluids.

She was so taken by the rain and watching the patterns of water falling across the glass, that Ranma missed Setsuna coming up and laying a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Ranma ignored the suddenly attentive room. Not like she'd had much privacy in her life before. "No. Not at all."

A little offset by the unexpected frankness, Setsuna settled on the nearby windowsill. "Then, talk with me about it?"

"Dunno if I should," Ranma groused quietly, turning away from the woman's deep red eyes. "It ain't... " she cursed quietly, phantom pains from her mother's reminders coming to the fore. "... it isn't all my story to tell."

Setsuna allowed that, nodding. "Well, lets try for something less personal, maybe? After the ambulance had taken Akane away, you walked over to what was left of that... thing, and did something. You said a name, I recall."

"Gosunkugi. Hikaru Gosunkugi," Ranma replied bitterly. She noted Nabiki's sudden attention, but didn't care. It wouldn't matter either way, anymore. "Small-time magician. Mostly just a joke. He never did get anything quite right. This either, it seemed."

Nabiki strolled closer, sitting in a nearby chair. "I wouldn't have expected you to have such an understanding of these things, Ranma," the girl noted speculatively. "What's gotten you interested in the occult?"

The redhead ignored the obvious baiting, continuing her explanation to Setsuna's question. She wasn't quite ready to deal with the mercenary Tendo yet. "Gos wasn't subtle. And he talked a lot out loud, when thinking. Pretty easy to figure out. Anyway, the Outsider pretty much told me what I needed to know. He'd been summoned, and then homed in on the target, so to speak."

"He wanted to hurt Akane?" Nabiki's voice was disbelieving. "That doesn't make sense."  
"Nah," Ranma explained, finally addressing the middle Tendo's concern, "He wanted her – but that was probably all he put into his summoning. Usual Nerima stupidity. The monster absorbed him, then used his desire to fuel itself. Those things are like that. Once it had killed Akane, probably by eatin' her, it would have twisted Gos' words around on him, to break him.

"After that, it'd have access to his mind and body. It could have started forming a nest and summoning more of those things."

Nabiki blinked. "You do know more about this than I'd expect. But how do you know it was Hikaru for certain?"

"Ask my mom about demon hunting, someday," Ranma sniped back, quieting the girl. She didn't owe her civility, considering their history. "As for Gos, well. Remember that weird face-shaped thing on the Outsider's forehead? Guess who's face it was under that."

The middle Tendo greened. "Oh. So that's what you did..."

"Better to know who you're dealin' with, so you can track back and destroy the material," Ranma pointed out by way of explanation. "These things don't just show up on their own, thankfully. Don't want the guy's parents putting his books and notes into a yard sale or sellin' 'em to a curio store."

Setsuna connected a few dots, nodding with a slight smile. Listening to the young woman talk so frankly about this was fascinating. "So, your mother I take it is part of the Contract? A demonslayer?"

"Was," Ranma corrected, not wanting to talk about such things in mixed company. It did raise the question on how Setsuna – who was an administrative assistant at a school and fashion buff – knew about such things. "Her family's talents fade after... well when she married, she lost 'em. Sword she carries isn't for show, you know."

"Do you carry the same powers? Is that what we saw?" The green-haired woman inquired, hoping to solve this redheaded mystery. Not that she minded her, but it was entertaining to learn such things directly. She'd once compared watching a person's life and interacting with them to masturbation and sex, to Minako.

She never drank around Venus again.

Ranma chuckled darkly. "Nah. Gift moves from mother to daughter. I didn't count."

Nabiki made a sound that said she understood... which just confused Setsuna further. "Ah. But you're her daughter?"

"At the moment," Ranma replied evasively.

Laughing quietly, Setsuna had to admit, turnabout was fair play. It was somewhat refreshing to be on the receiving end of being in the dark, for once. Not that she intended to let the other Senshi know that. Her enigmatic mystique was part of her charm, after all. Now, if she could only avoid laughing about this later, in front of them...

However amusing this was, it didn't explain what she'd witnessed. "What did you use then? That wasn't like anything I'd seen before," the disguised Senshi queried.

Ranma heaved a sigh, "I'm a martial artist. Probably the best in my generation. What you saw was mostly me using some very dangerous sealed techniques that I'm working on revising, as part of my heritage."

"Sounds almost like a demonslayer clan, to me."

"Those techniques?" Ranma snorted in a decidedly unladylike fashion. "Designed for theft and robbing homes."

Setsuna really didn't know what to say to that.

"Boy," Genma broke in, as if speaking about the Senken's had summoned his attention. Recalling how Happosai would do so at nothing more than his name, Ranma didn't wholly discount the possibility. "So, you used them against this Outsider as you called it?"

Ranma nodded, taking up a lecturing tone. "That particular kind of Outsider's strength was based in its form. The more damage you did, the weaker it got. They can regenerate, though," she explained. "So you need to hit 'em hard and fast.

"The tentacles are envenomed," she continued, holding up her heavily bandaged arm for emphasis. "So, getting in close is a bad idea. I figure those things could shrug off all but high-caliber rifle fire, so probably heavy military attacks would put it down. Maybe magic, if someone was able to get to it before it took out a few blocks first. Senshi if they were on-site I guess, but by the time they arrived if they weren't, the thing'd likely be gone already. Problem with them is they're just about perfect assassins.

"They show up where the target their summoner called them for happens to be," Ranma continued, moving to pace around slowly. "Then, pretty much focus on them till they're dead. After that, they hide, get their energy back, then start summoning their own playmates. They're usually only exposed for a day."

Genma pushed his glasses up, a speculative look on his face. "Boy, when did you learn so much about these things? I didn't train you to be a demon hunter."

"No, you just trained me to be an egotistical jerk," the redhead muttered, before looking to her mother. "Didn't you tell him?"

Nodoka shrugged noncommittally. "He wasn't really interested in my family, so much as his... husbandly duties."

"Gurk," Ranma replied intelligently.

Setsuna's tanned complexion greened visibly. "Indeed."

"Honestly," Ranma's mother complained, though amused. "I suppose since the secret is essentially out, there is no harm. My family, traditionally, were demonslayers as Setsuna guessed. However," here the older woman paused, her face growing irritated. "It wasn't in my fate, apparently, to have a daughter. Since our family passes such knowledge from the maternal line, I was prepared to let my ambitions die, as my sister's two daughters are doing quite well."

Connecting the dots, Ranma laughed suddenly, missing the utterly confused look on Setsuna's face. "So, that's why you've been pushing me for grandkids! You wanted a granddaughter to train!"

Guiltily, Nodoka nodded. "I'm still young enough to do so. Plus, with their father's help, any of those we taught would become formidable slayers."

"Aw, mom, you give me too much credit. I've never taught before, y'know?"

"Boy!" Genma's face had grown red in irritation at having his discussion with Ranma derailed. The room looked to him, their confusion on the conversation's strange twists displaced as the rotund martial artist attempted to loom over his child, with limited success. "I also heard you used portions of the Senken's against your fiancee-"

"She ain't my fiancee," Ranma snarled back, advancing on the older man. Genma blinked, before getting poked sharply in the chest. Too late he recognized the pressure point, and groaned internally – as he was currently paralyzed. "Damn it, I'm_ tired_ of that crap! I made that clear months ago, so get it through your thick, bald, empty skull! I ain't marrying that violent maniac!"

Turning on Nabiki, who looked ready to say something herself, the livid redhead continued, "And don't even try to push your angles, or family honor, Nabiki. Ain't in the mood for it, today."

"I wasn't going to," the mercenary Tendo griped, flipping her hair behind an ear. "But someone's going to have to pay for this hospital stay, and since you were the one to rough up my sister..."

Ranma merely shook her head, leaning up against a wall. "You must still take me for an idiot. If the Tomboy needs support, let her family do it. Ancestors know I've already paid my dues to your little insane asylum, Tendo."

Moving to her child's side, Nodoka presented a unified front to the middle Tendo, her expression carefully blank. "Akane accepted the challenge. She knew the risks, having seen nearly all of Ranma's abilities before. That said, perhaps she'll learn a lesson about common courtesy, and think twice about behaving as she did today again. And I don't recall the Tendo family ever assisting in Ranma's medical bills, when he..._ she_ was injured on her behalf in the past," the older woman replied with some venom, closing the topic.

Seeing that she'd make no headway with the estranged Saotomes, Nabiki dropped her angle and grumbled irritably. Medical care was expensive, and without Ranma at the Dojo to exploit for cash on occasion, or schedule bets on at Furinkan, this little social slip-up of Akane's was going to severely dent her funds. To say Nabiki planned to have a very terse conversation with her sister soon would be an understatement.

"Ranma, release your father," Nodoka prompted after seeing that Nabiki's questions were settled, earning a wince and mutter from the redhead. "We'll be leaving shortly, as this no longer concerns us, and we have to find this Gosunkugi's home."

Understanding her mother's reasoning, Ranma did as she was asked. "Yeah, the sooner we find what he used to summon that thing, the better."

Setsuna stepped forward at this, "Do you mind if we accompany you?" As the spectating Outers and Saotomes looked at each other in confusion, the civilian-mode Senshi of Time elaborated. "I have an interest in the occult, well more of a hobby, really," the green haired woman lied slightly. "I won't keep you from what you need to do, but I am curious."

Eying the tanned woman for a moment, Ranma recalled what had been said after her fight with the Broken One earlier. Though she wasn't unfamiliar with such a situation – having someone decide they were suddenly interested – it had never before been a woman for her woman's form. Deciding that having the Meiou household along would give her a chance to speak with Setsuna about what she'd said, and find out if she was just kidding or serious, the redheaded martial artist nodded. The two families were good friends, and she wanted to clear this up as soon as possible. "Fashion and the occult, huh?" Ranma chuckled as the taller woman grinned quietly at her jibe. "Sure. Shouldn't be dangerous now. 'Sides, we all started this together – may as well end it the same."

From the sidelines, Hotaru shyly grinned in victory. Now she just had to recapture that courage from before...

–

Ranma mused on how easy it had been, some hours later, to not only deliver a Ryū Kumon-grade beat-down to her ex-fiancee, but to also leave her behind in a hospital without so much as seeing if she'd be alright. Those things stood in stark counter to how she'd reacted to the Broken One's actions, in attacking Akane in the first place.

Conflicted and confused. All was right in Ranma's world, it seemed. The redhead snorted indelicately at that realization.

"Are you alright?"

From the passenger seat in Nodoka's sedan, the martial artist nodded. "I'm fine, Setsuna. Just thinking."

She mused that someone else might be worried that their father would be upset with them, for using the methods she had against her ex-fiancee. Aside from the fact Ranma really didn't care if Gemna was angry or not, she also discarded any concern on the other likely worry someone would feel. She had, after all, used the sealed Senkens on Akane. She knew, just as her father had to, that it was more of a statement than anything. If she'd intended to hurt or kill Akane, like those styles could so easily do, then it would have been a foregone conclusion. Hell, just the gate-crashing technique could have finished the job – not that Ranma had intended to.

No, she just wanted to drive a point home to the uncute tomboy. Playtime was over, and so were they.

Behind said seat, the emerald haired woman hummed quietly, frowning. Ahead of her, one of the few topics of her interest sat and brooded, something she'd seen so rarely as to make it stand out quite starkly. Ranma, the elfin girl, simply didn't brood. Then there was how she'd spoken just now... 'Setsuna'. Though she often complained good-naturedly about Ranma's nickname for her, she liked hearing it. It was refreshing to have someone treat her normally, though those of her household were quickly converting as well. And honestly, she liked the slight familiarity. Deciding not to fall into the trap of brooding herself, she replied in an airy tone, "If you say so. You've been unusually quiet since earlier."

"Not every day some monster from another universe shows up to wreck your shopping trip," Ranma replied archly, turning slightly to address the tanned woman. She decidedly avoided the gazes of Setsuna's housemates, as they looked between the two for the few moments they held eye contact. Ranma broke the moment by blinking, turning to her classmates. "Been meaning to ask, did anyone see what happened to that girl in the skirt? That Senshi?" Ranma didn't miss the slight jerk that question brought out of Hotaru, but she didn't understand precisely why mention of the Senshi put the girl so on-edge.

Haruka cleared her throat quietly. "Not really. Once the ambulance and the EMT's had arrived, it seemed she'd disappeared."

Ranma grumbled slightly at that, disliking the idea of Juuban's resident demonslayers maybe getting wind of her particular issue. Though, admittedly, pulling her into a lip-lock wasn't the kind of interrogation she'd expected. "Eh, well," she voiced dismissively. "Sorry to drag you all into this, but I can't really let it slide."

"We don't mind," came the calm reply from Michiru, as expected. She'd always envied her that calm, Ranma admitted to herself. It wasn't like Kasumi's forced obliviousness, but a real inner peace. Something she could only maintain while performing the Art. "I personally find this all fascinating, if somewhat frightening."

"Like being on the set of a monster flick," Haruka added, though something seemed off in her expression.

Ranma spared her mother a look, and got one in return. Something odd was up with their friends, and though both Saotomes could feel it, neither could put their finger on it. Normally, people would be horrified, at least concerned, about seeing such a thing. Then their explanations... honestly neither woman would have said as much as they did, if it hadn't been so surreal as to have the four from the Meiou household simply take it all in stride. It threw off their normal close-lipped methods in such situations terribly – not that Ranma was practiced in such things. She'd only began her training in the most peripheral of Nodoka's family Art. She was, at heart, still male after all.

Was Juuban really that bad, Ranma wondered to herself as they neared Nerima for the first time in months. So much so, that people treated a dimensional horror like a Broken One bursting through and nearly destroying a city block as if it were just another day-to-day occurrence? Even little Hotaru, who seemed shy as a scolded puppy sometimes at school, hadn't batted an eyelash. She seemed more bashful and shy around her than usual, though, which really threw Ranma for a loop. A little bit of hero-worship had sparked in her, from when she'd been teaching the younger girl martial arts, but this was completely new.

All told, it was turning out to be just such a strange day. She'd be pleased when it was over with.

–

Despite her subtle – and not-so-subtle – requests that she remain with either Michiru, Haruka, and Hotaru outside, or if nothing else, her mother downstairs, Setsuna insisted on following Ranma as she went to inspect Hikaru's room.

It wasn't that she minded the tanned woman's company, really. If she had been frankly honest with herself, Ranma would have admitted that the woman's presence was rather pleasant. Though it had taken a small while for the two to warn to one another, it had eventually happened.

Most of their distance originally lay in their interests. Setsuna was – when home at all – often found relaxing and reading a book, tuning out the world at large. Ranma however couldn't often contain her energy, and so tended to idle outside, doing kata, when not teaching Hotaru or sparring with Haruka. Oddly enough, they mostly crossed paths in the kitchen, or when the topic of history came up – something Ranma had started enjoying once she really focused on her classwork.

As it turned out, Setsuna was an accomplished cook, almost a gourmet. There was an odd synergy, the two discovered, one night working on a meal together. Ranma's speed and precision, coupled with Setsuna's complex menu, combined to make quite the show. Since then, it had become a weekly occurrence that Ranma would drop by, and the two would secret themselves away to make a meal that the two households found rather amazing.

So why was it, Ranma asked herself, that she suddenly felt like it was a year ago, and she'd been locked in a room with one of the fiancees?

"I'm sorry if what I'd said before bothered you," the tanned woman murmured as they took the stairs up to the late sorcerer's room, as if reading Ranma's thoughts. "Honestly, I wasn't really thinking. It was just... shocking to see you handle that thing so well, all on your own. Then the Senshi arrived..." Shaking her head, the older woman smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. That, more than anything, irked Ranma. "You can write it off as nerves and adrenaline."

Rather than voice a reply, Ranma just made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, nudging Gosunkugi's door open with her foot. The room was what she'd expected, having known the spooky young man for a few years.

Setsuna sniffed in open disdain, after shooting a curious glance at her companion's lack of reaction. "It looks like some kind of death-metal occultist's room."

"Dunno about his taste in music, but you're half right at least." Moving further into the dingy, tacky, messy room, Ranma couldn't help but make a few noises of annoyance. Was she ever this bad? No, it wasn't possible. She never had so many damn_ things_. The room was a veritable vault of stuff. "Ugh, obviously close to a laundry day."

For her part, Setsuna was reminded of why she never dated, nor indulged in the stability of family, before the Outers. Not that they really counted, in the way of raising children. "...how many boxes of tissues did he need?"

"Too much information," Ranma muttered as she picked over a bookshelf. Rows of new-age mysticism books, modern-day witchcraft guides, a few recognizable works of major religions – most with their spines pristine, showing they were token pieces – and even some odd scrolls... but nothing she could identify as the source of the recent incident. To fill in the silence, she idly commented on their late host. "He was always a loner, kinda creepy. Never looked too healthy, to be honest. Surprised his folks didn't lean on him harder to clean up his act."

"They seemed rather... normal, honestly," the off-duty Senshi commented. Her magical senses, well-honed, knew something potent was nearby, but pinpointing it through the background noise of Gosunkugi's room would be impossible. Besides, it was clear Ranma was feeling wary, and she was already pushing the envelope, that day. Best to lay low.

Nodding at her observation, the younger redhead loosed a sigh, straightening. "Look, Suna-chan... about earlier..."

"I'm sorry for blurting that out, truly-"

"Did you mean it?"

Setsuna stalled for a moment, before wrenching her emotional control back into place. Her face a calm mask, she regarded the martial artist. "I've considered you something of a kindred spirit for some time, really. Since we began our weekly meetings." Looking away, she caught sight of what could be their objective... but said nothing for the moment. "Maybe in the heat of the moment I let something slip that shouldn't have."

Ranma deflated slightly, the tense attention draining out of her, leaving the young woman looking smaller, more worn and tired. "Right, suppose so. I mean," she began, a rather plainly fake smile on her lips, "you said as much coming up here."

Without pause, she moved directly to the corner of the table Setsuna had observed before, and pulled the book covered in math notes and a notebook out from under the pile. Snapping the handwritten tome shut, she waved it in a hand. "Mission accomplished."

Closing her eyes and nodding, the Guardian of Time tried not to think she'd just made a mistake.

Ranma wondered why the rejection, something she'd desperately wanted for so long from other sources, felt so bitter this time.

–

The scene below would have been heartbreaking, if Ranma hadn't been the cause for it, at least as an accessory. The Gosunkugi family sat hugging one another, the youngest son looking between his parents and a nearby picture of his older brother Hikaru with an uncomprehending expression. A distant part of the martial artist was glad at least the family had another child. It would help hold them together, through this.

Moving to her mother's side, she tapped the older redhead on the shoulder. "Found what we needed," she murmured quietly.

"Is that... the cause of all this?"

Ranma winced at the question, before regarding the dead boy's mother frankly. "As far as I know, yeah. This is what he learned the spell from."

There was a stifled scoff from the woman's husband, and one look at the man told Ranma all she needed to know about how his thoughts were turning after the news her mother had sprung on them. "Spell? Don't be ludicrous. This woman-" he indicated Nodoka with his hand," -tried to pass such idiocy off as a reason for Hikaru's... for him..." gritting his teeth, the man rose to his feet. "Give me that. I want to see what supposedly drove my boy insane."

Nearly a head shorter than the man, Ranma nonetheless stared him down. "As much as I regret comin' with mom to tell you about all this, I got other priorities. Makin' sure junk like this," Ranma waved the small book slightly, "stays out of anyone's hands is number one."

"And who are you, little girl, to be deciding this?" The man shrugged off his wife's calming hand, making a grab for the tome. Ranma didn't seem to notice the movement, simply shifting it so it was just left of where he was aiming as she shifted her feet. "Why you-"

Fast as a striking snake, Ranma tapped the man in the same place she had her own father, earlier that evening. "Pressure points," she noted calmly, eyes glacial chips. "Good for makin' sure people listen when ya talk." Shaking her head slowly, she turned to her mother, "Wanna take over? I ain't all that stable today."

Nodding, Nodoka stood from the small chair she'd settled in earlier as Ranma pulled a small box from thin air, undoing the lock on the front with some odd motions of her fingers. She'd forgive her child's lapse in proper language, for the same reasons. "As my... daughter has so eloquently stated, there are priorities in place for what we do. The first is to minimize or remove the danger of such creatures when they are presented. That requires us to be very strong fighters," she explained, regarding the man before her with an arched brow. She let the moment hang, so that he could think her words over clearly, and make no mistakes.

"The second of our duties is misinformation. The world is unready to deal with such truths as demons and magic. So, for those that need not be involved, we adjust the truth to suit.

"In your case, however, things are different," she noted, taking a moment to look at the portrait of a sickly, pale, odd-looking child on the mantle. "The boy was family, and we are honor-bound to tell you about his fate."

Moving to her daughter's side, she inspected the sealing of the charwood box. "Lastly, we are bound to destroy any materials or items that can assist such events from happening. In many ways, this is more important than our other duties, but it is hard to do proactively."

"Was it... was it quick?"

Ranma regarded Hikaru's mother, then nodded, meeting her eyes while the Soul of Ice was thrumming through her blood like frozen water. "It was. He didn't suffer at all."

The woman slumped in relief at the martial artist's lie, before succumbing to another fit of sobs. Nodoka rested a hand on her shoulder, in parting. "We are sorry for your loss. If there was anything we could have done, we would have."

Glancing back toward Ranma, the elder Saotome nodded to the frozen form of the woman's husband. Knowing her meaning, Ranma undid the paralysis as she walked with Nodoka to the door. "We'll leave you now. Again, we are sorry."

Ranma nodded uncomfortably. "Yeah." Once the door closed behind them, the martial artist slumped. "Don't think I could handle doing that a lot," Ranma commented, as she patted her mother's back lightly. For her part, the distraught woman was doing well in controlling her own emotions, though she had slipped slightly. It had been some long while since she'd openly and actively performed the duties of her family.

She nodded at her child's comment, as they sat uncomfortably in the front of the sedan, the Meiou household trying to fade into the background behind them. "It never gets easy. Honestly, the guilt and hate that we end up carrying with us after our duty drives more away than the horror. Such a thankless duty..."

"Most are," Setsuna commented, quietly, from behind Ranma. "It is admirable that the both of you care enough to have done this."

"Makes me wish sometime that I'd never taken that trip with Pop," Ranma muttered quietly, before shaking herself. "Past is the past. Lets get everyone home – I don't wanna carry this thing around any more than I have to."

–

It was later that night that things began to unravel.

Ranma went about her night-time activities in her typically mechanical way – brushing her teeth, loosening the tie on her hair to brush it out briskly, then tying it back up, before stripping with little fanfare to slip into a furo tub. Scentless soap, shampoo, and a coarse cloth called her attentions next, as she bathed and washed without really seeing or thinking about the body beneath those hands. Just like every other day, since Jusendo. Unlike the usual routine she followed, Ranma paused after bathing, putting aside those plain things, to regard the water distantly.

It took nearly eight months for the realization to finally hit, but Ranma found it doing so during a bath, of all times. Shivering despite the heat, she cupped the steaming water in her hand and stared at it, as if there was some answer waiting there.

"I'm never going to be able to really be a guy again, am I?" She wondered out loud, eyes distant and blank, mind nearly matching.

Sure, she could boil some water and scald herself, reverting back to her birth form... but for how long? The curse's nature wasn't something she could fight, and for two years and some odd months, she'd tried probably harder than any other alive. Maybe a few hours, and then what? Back where she was now, and with the curse slowly shifting so that the water had to be hotter each time. How soon would it be, before that same water hurt her enough to make changing forms something she simply couldn't do?

_She couldn't go on like she used to._

It was a small thing to think about, but a huge one to really understand. All the flirting, scamming food or rivals, the lack of responsibility... those were all things she did while wearing her shifted form. Like a costume, Ranma had only treated it as something important when it was there, but the moment she didn't need it anymore, discarded it. Because, this form – back when it wasn't Ranma, but male and a head of black hair was – was just a side-affect of_ his_ curse. Now, it had become_ her_ reality.

Curling up so that she could hug her knees to her chest, Ranma shivered hard, so much so that she caused the water in the tub she sat in to slosh about noisily. This was how she'd be from now on, Ranma realized. Unless some miracle or magic cure could be found, from now on she'd be... simply that._ Her_self.

A long time ago it seemed she'd come to grips with the curse, and being someone remarkably different with just a splash of water. When she was a girl, Ranma worked for a time at the end, to just be that. A girl. It was a balancing act to try and keep the curse from becoming a liability. It was something her Pops had used against her over and over again, and though Ranma wasn't the brightest of her generation, her tactical mind was second to none.

That was one thing, however. All Ranma had done, was accept that when she was female, she could_ be_ female. The internal, essential Ranma never changed. He was still male, still Genma and Nodoka's son, still the fiancee of Akane Tendo.

Now, all that had changed. Eighteen years of life, lost. She'd been recreated into an image that she'd learned to hate, and now that was the totality of her existence. She was Ranma now – that image in her head dimming more and more as the days went on. She could have railed and raged about how every little detail was slowly unmaking her – the clothes, the words – daughter, girl, she – the looks she got from men, the way sometimes she'd assess one of them before her mind rebelled at what she was thinking. Oh, it was nothing sexual..._ yet_. That concept still caused creeping shivers to crawl up her spine. Yet, she was honest with herself. She had been assessing the people around her, judging them like she had the fiancees before... and now those glances had began to stray to men.

She salved her aching thoughts with the knowledge that – as often as not – those judgements were not in their favor. Perhaps it was biased of her, but Furinkan's Hentai Horde, Kuno, Happosai, and even Ryoga had left a bad impression on her, regarding her birth gender. Hell, even her closest friends from school had become little more than hormonal idiots after the truth of her present state had come out into the open.

The city flipped in her vision, as the wind ripped a tattoo like rattled drums from her wings. Screaming something joyous into the wind, Ranma dove, swept and pitched against the wind for a moment as she loosed all those thing lodged into her soul, choking her for so long, into a howl that rattled windows far below.

Again and again those pinions swept the air, powerful and wide, wicked and hers.

This is what she was. Who she was.

Finding a rythym to the motion, she let it carry her further into Tokyo proper, till a spark of something below drew her attention. She kept her mind on it, as the memory of a song she'd heard recently welled up, and the redhead let her wings beat to it's cadence. Humming to the bassy orchestral piece, Ranma gained speed and altitude, staring up across the veil of clouds as they mimicked a sea between the starry ground below and the wide, huge, staring eye of the moon.

Ever-watchful, ever-seeing. Judging, deciding...

She frowned as those ideas filtered into her mind. Where did that come from?

—

AN: Ran out of steam about here. This is actually iteration about… 6 of this story. It got stuck in revision hell, and never emerged. Then I lost my motivation for it.


	7. Chapter 7

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: Not sure. Just felt like this should happen, somewhere.

—

_**Terms of Victory**_

His hand lightly swirling a mix of juice and some unknown alcohol, Ranma watched as Nabiki tried to push her angle from half a room away. The noise made it nearly impossible to hear her, other than a bare syllable here or there, and the light made it difficult to read her lips, but he managed well enough. The bar in Roppongi wasn't the best place to play covert bodyguard/observer, but the alternate choices weren't too much better. Use one of the sealed forms to hide closer? Too crowded, too much distraction. Maybe one of Konatsu's ninjutsu tricks... no, he didn't practice those, out of respect for the crossdressing kunoichi. The cursed martial artist actually snorted at his next suggestion to himself – offer his services directly.

"Yeah, like I want to put myself in that position," he muttered irritably. Oddly, he was only a few steps from it, but the difference was stark. At the moment, he was watching over someone who was something like family, for his own peace of mind. At Nabiki's whim, he'd just be another commodity, a different grade of pressure, influence, power, and potential. "Just another tool to be used."

"Not much wrong with that," a voice murmured nearby, and Ranma turned to regard a woman with cinnamon toned skin who looked to be in her early twenties, possibly. It wasn't the maturity of her face, or style of dress that lead him to that conclusion – those were deceptive. Taken from those hints, she should be maybe eighteen and thirty-something, respectively. Her face was young, if lacking the roundness of youth, and her dress seemed to exude a sense of quiet, firm competence. No, it was the way she carried herself, and the carriage of her body that he noted, something almost like a sixth sense to him with so much familiarity in the martial arts. That personal grace was smooth and fluid, well-practiced, long honed, Ranma noted in the fractions of a moment he afforded everyone on first meeting them. He'd learned very early on in life to assess everyone, having had too many ambushes, random challenges, and 'honorable' attempts on his life to assume a stranger wasn't a threat.

As he took in her appearance, so she returned the regard. The young man to her left was fit, and looked to be in his late teens, though there was a heaviness to his demeanor that spoke of recent, heavy sadness. Also very apparent in every motion was an economy and grace that seemed nearly unnatural, but at the same time, so very fitting. Raven-black hair framed his face in a fall of loose bangs, while the rest was pulled back in a long braid that currently sat draping across his shoulder to rest across his chest. Said physique was clad in an off-white silk shirt, that seemed a size too big in the arms, but on second glance seemed more tailored for movement than snugness. A similar pattern repeated with the black slacks, that seemed more along the line of loose-fit silk hakama. Beyond bearing and clothing, however, she noted the young man's eyes. Brilliant, stormy blue so clear that she paused, startled for a moment.

She knew those eyes...

Ranma endured the woman's assessing glance with stoic grace, before a slow nod passed between them, sparking a slight smile below deep red eyes. How interesting, he thought, something about those eyes settling in his mind heavily. They seemed familiar, but he simply could not place them. Uncertainty aside, her earlier remark demanded a response of some sort. "Being a tool for someone to use? Not sure I could live that life." He managed to keep a straight face, despite the irony of that statement in regard to his own life at that moment.

"Purpose," she began, hailing the bartender for another drink, turning her gaze back out to the dance floor. That same painful apparition remained, at once uplifting and crushing in its reality. "Stability, surety of interaction with the one you trust, or at worst, whose using you. Knowing your place. There's security in that kind of situation."

"Maybe," Ranma admitted hesitantly, before shaking his head, considering the woman's words. For the briefest moment he allowed his mind to consider Nabiki and what she'd do in that position – again, really. When Akane has been in the middle of one of her fits of calling off the engagement, it had been moved to the middle Tendo, and despite Akane's more physical negative tendencies, he preferred her to being whored out like property. "But, in this case, I don't want to be a tool to this person. Not all that appealing, considering how she treats her 'tools'."

The woman nodded, and with the shifting light Ranma realized her hair was a deep green that seemed nearly black in the bar's intermittent gloom. Setsuna allowed herself to preen slightly under the young man's open attention, before returning to the conversation, memories of her own service clear in her mind despite the current day's... lack. "One must pick their masters carefully," she murmured before tipping back a glass of what looked like milk, but smelled of sake.

Ah. Unfiltered sake, then, Ranma realized with a grimace. For all it was traditional in Japan, he just couldn't stomach the stuff without memories of Tatewaki Kuno ruining the moment. Her words however resonated in him, shaking him badly despite his observation. "Masters?"

Setsuna rocked her hand, swirling the sake in her glass lightly before she answered. Though she had another name for the woman who she had served, her words seemed appropriate just the same, "What else would a tool consider their wielder?"

"...I suppose so."

An uneasy silence drifted between the two of them, then, and it was only a matter of a moment's attention for Ranma to see the woman was watching her own quarry, as he was keeping a vigil on Nabiki. The dusky-skinned woman nearby rarely took her gaze off of what looked to be an intimate couple, judging as he could on their willingness and lack of reaction to hold and he held by the other. For a moment he frowned at the picture, before dismissing his reaction – sure, the man looked to be a few years older, but not enough for it to be a real issue, he figured. What was four or five years in the larger scheme of things, if the two of them loved each other? The spark of jealousy remained, however, in seeing a couple so in love and without troubles, blithely dancing the night away. A petty, small, hateful part of him that rarely saw the light of day swelled into the fore briefly, and he fought down the surge of dark emotions with a vengeance that left him cold and feeling wasted. With that impulse's passing, Ranma snorted in derision, throwing back his light drink to order another in a single motion of a raised glass.

Though she could sense auras weakly like most of her companions, Setsuna rarely felt someone who's emotions were strong enough to impact her without even focusing on that ability. What she'd just felt off the man nearby could have paralyzed someone, if focused on them directly. In the wake of it, she shivered. "Something wrong?"

The martial artist considered those words, not bothering to turn to the woman at his side. She knew he'd heard, and he knew she was listening. "Just thinking about love. The great cosmic joke."

It was the woman's turn to react as if struck, and Ranma turned to note her strangely intense flinch from his words. In a moment, she was back to watching her charges, but the tenseness around her eyes was new. In defense of one of the primary tenets of her long and inglorious life, she asserted, "Love can be a powerful force."

"It can also be a trap," Ranma replied immediately, leaning back against the bar with his new drink in hand. A quick check against his ki told him this should be his last – he was burning it up quickly, but that lapse in emotions earlier had been a problem. He wouldn't remain drunk or even tipsy for long as his metabolism burned the stuff out far too fast, but that reaction condensed all the effect into a shorter period. His blood was getting just high enough in alcohol content to leave him with a rather foul headache, and he wanted to avoid that if he could. Politeness to the bar had been achieved, with his purchases. He could stop acting like he was enjoying his drinks now.

The woman mulled his words over as his attention wandered. A small, bitter part of her agreed with him, but at the same time, a spark of hope had lit in her breast at seeing that familiar, stormy blue. Irony seemed thick in the air that night – here, she'd thought to find a place to escape the knowledge that all she had worked for was at once achieved and lost, it had only served to drag her face-first into the consequences of the moment. On top of that – seeing Usagi and Mamoru together, oblivious to her – she now had the stinging reminder of a love she'd nearly given up on, haunting her while she looked out on a childlike dream from 15,000 years before dying in another woman's arms. Somehow, she mustered the will to respond through her dry mouth and stinging eyes. "Yes, I suppose it can be. But it can also be the key to any door or cage."

"Just another tool," the young man muttered, shaking his head. All the times Ukyo and Xian Pu had used that word to trap him, to manipulate his feelings and get their way rose up in his mind. Even Akane had skirted that taboo once or twice. "Something else for people to use, to manipulate you."

"You seem too young to be so jaded," Setsuna remarked, the cynicism in the young man's voice so biting that it seemed to stab at her.

"And you seem too young to be commenting on it," Ranma replied, his customary half-grinning smirk present for a fraction of a moment, though it never reached his eyes. It faded as he watched one of the men Nabiki was talking to start looking defensive and angry, his expression stony still, but his body betraying him. Focusing further, Ranma took a moment to confirm some of his earlier observations, his expression turning grim.

The sound of someone moving at his side drew his attention, and Ranma noted that his companion at the bar had turned to face him while he kept his gaze on Nabiki. "That was an entirely too serious look."

Ranma nodded to his charge, across the room. There would be no harm in cluing the woman in to what he was doing, at this point. "Smirking girl, third table from the left support, with the three suits around her."

Affirming a suspicion, the woman sighted Nabiki in only a few brief moments. He could feel the tension in the woman ramping up slightly, as she took in the situation he had noted developing. "That... isn't very bright."

"Sometimes she outsmarts herself," the martial artist commented, getting an unladylike snort for a reply. "Hang on a second." Instead of standing and making his way over, Ranma took up the glass he'd been nursing for part of the day, downing what water was within from the ice melt quickly. Dumping what ice remained in his hand, he weighed it for a moment, before that fist blurred three times. Over the din of the dancing, three separate cracks snapped against the wall behind the suited Yakuza Nabiki was speaking with, startling them into putting their hands on their weapons. The sudden motion and change in demeanor caused the middle Tendo to pale dramatically, before she could reign in her reaction to something more normal.

Nodding at his work, Ranma sat back down and watched as the young woman he'd come to watch over shifted her apparent approach with the men she was meeting with, clearly nervous about their concealed weapons. Ranma wasn't sure if they were guns – massively illegal and hard to get in Japan – or some kind of baton, taser, or something else, but suspected the worst. He knew from his travels with Genma that high-ranking Yakuza were well-capable of paying off local police, and that it was only a matter of bad luck that Nabiki could have found herself tangling with such a group. Taking up his newly refilled drink, the martial artist paused, noting the woman beside him eying him intently. "Hm?"

Cocking her head to the side slightly, the woman graced him with a slow smile. "That was very well handled. It got the point across to her that those men were armed, distracted conversation enough to let her back up and diffuse her own possible overstepping, and was essentially untrackable with the speed and melting ice." Lifting her small glass of unfiltered sake, she offered him a brief salute. "Well done."

Not used to praise from strangers, Ranma ducked his head for a moment before smiling. "Thanks." Nodding to her own charges, he hazarded a question. "They seem pretty relaxed, for someone with your training to watch over them. They know you're here?"

The woman went rather still for a moment, before relaxing, taking another sip of her drink as she mulled over an answer. She should have expected the man beside her, his training quite clear in his demeanor and how he carried himself, to note her own skill and focus. "No, they don't know. And I'm not really watching over them as..." the pause was longer this time, and looking askance at the woman, Ranma noticed the pain clear in her eyes, that didn't reach her face. "So much as sending off a dream, I suppose."

As blunt as he usually was, Ranma was a fast and capable learner. Tact was something he'd been getting lessons in from a number of sources, among them Kasumi Tendo and Hinako Ninomiya. Both had managed to get their meaning across well enough for the martial artist to realize following up on the woman's comment would cause her unnecessary pain, and that honestly, it wasn't his business despite the conversation.

Ranma remained silent a moment before nodding slowly. "They're lucky to have a friend like you watching out for them, and wishing them the best."

Setsuna masked her reaction well to those words, but the echo of what had happened was still too raw for her to keep her stoic mask in place without small breaks. A tenseness around her eyes, which had started to sting. Weight, as if the world were dragging at her lips, bending them into a sorrowful bow. A shivering of her brow, as her resolve strained and groaned.

When a napkin was passed to her without comment, she took it in the same silence it was offered, dabbing at her eyes delicately. The young man's voice seemed abrupt, but vastly more welcome than silence, when it broke through her melancholy. "Smoke and lights in here play hell with your eyes sometimes. Don't worry – I'll keep an eye on them till you're sorted out."

A laugh bubbled up from deep within her, from a place she had thought mirth had become alien to, managing to come out a strangled sound more resembling a cough. "You... thank you," she offered quietly, shuddering again as the incredulity of the situation hammered at her again.

"No problem," Ranma demurred, keeping his gaze on the couple or Nabiki while the woman worked through her lapse. He'd seen it – been there – too often to not recognize the signs, and what was happening with the pretty woman to his right. That didn't mean he understood what was going on with her, however. She acted like someone had died, or broken up with her, or something equally as awful, but that seemed to clash badly with watching a happy couple spin across the dance floor, their eyes only on one another.

Still, it wasn't his place to grill the woman on what was going on. It might just give him something distracting to think about later, rather than the mess that was his own life, when all this was over and the regular mad routine of his life began again.

AN: Simple and clean.


	8. Chapter 8

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: This was going to be a Ranma/ Love Hina mid-story crossup, with Nodoka as the Aoyama sister's aunt. Ranma was to arrive just after the arc in the MANGA of Love Hina where Kanako and Keitaro have their big conflict over his promise, Naru runs off, etc. It's near the end of the series, but not THE end. Critical to this was the damage done to Hinata's Annex, which in the (lost) chapter 2, Ranma would have been contracted to affect repairs on after some time to settle and learn at a temple. Yes, the reappearance of my infamous Onmyodo!Ranma again. Thus, meeting Kanako… But my hard drives (all three) blew up and so I scrapped it.

—

_**The Long View **_

The whispers were growing, Ranma noted with a frown as he sat on the roof of Furinkan High School. Louder, and more numerous. Currently the school itself was quiet, classes being on hiatus for a break, and thanks to that, it proved a good place to go and get away from things. Get away from most of the people around, and the noise they caused to carry on the air.

No matter how far he went, though, some things followed. That feeling of being trapped in a steel web of obligation, responsibility. Knowing that there were only so many ways out of it, that he could imagine, and all of them boiled down to the same thing – running away. He could make a decision this or that way, but no matter which he chose, someone was hurt. It really hit home that he and his father were different, in how he and Genma viewed those situations. To Ranma, all the entanglements were more than just problems, they were people too. Genma's opinion, however, reminded him of the Amazons. They didn't matter, and if they stood in the way, well! Just knock them down and go on!

It wasn't so easy, when one of the 'problems' was Ucchan. When one of them was Xian Pu, who of all the people he knew, understood the complicated dance that was martial arts and honor, and where one ended and the other began. It wasn't easy when it was Akane he was being pushed toward, but it was Akane who kept pushing him away.

Pushing those thoughts away, Ranma looked for his center, for the quiet that used to dwell in his heart. But the wind continued to blow, and with it came the voices, even if they were distant. Ever since Saffron, something had felt... off. Ranma tried to place it, but the best way he could explain it was that it felt like a limb waking up, only he didn't seem attached to it. Right now, it felt like figurative pins and needles – his awareness of it was growing, and it hurt. It made him wonder what it would be like, when that limb as he thought of it, fully 'woke up'."

A familiar voice tugged at his attention, and Ranma worked through the whispering cacophony to focus on it. "...anma? He's not here?" A pause. "Then, I suppose if you see him in the next hour, let him know I want to speak with him. It is somewhat urgent."

What did his mother want? Heaving a sigh, Ranma started on his way back home, hoping to catch the woman before she left.

–

"So, you're taking him there?"

"It is the logical thing for us to do. My sister in Kyoto was an idealistic fool, but paid enough for her mistakes to balance any karma against her line. Her daughters need not do the same." A small, thick, ceramic cup was lifted, a sip taken. "This is quickly becoming a family matter that I can no longer ignore. Eishun's foolish love of politics, his daughter hidden away in ignorance of her lineage, and my poor nieces. One, who would be a grand head of the school but who gave it up for her husband, and the other supposedly lazing away at a resort inn." The cup was set down with a muffled thump. "I must act. Blood demands it."

A pipe was lit, and sweet, cloying smoke hazed the small room. "Truly distressing. Why have you waited so long?"

An unladylike snort was the immediate reply. "Timing._ He_ has been waiting a long time for this as well, expecting me to come to him for an answer or plan. As if I would be able to do anything with my honor still stained. But his overconfidence in his supposedly grand plan makes him obvious. Exposed. A little nudge, and my son will see things as they are, and then we'll both be free of this lingering dishonor."

"Overconfidence is a rather common trait," the pipe-bearer replied pointedly, causing the hand with the tea to pause. "Be careful you don't fall into that same trap. But I agree – this has gone on long enough. Just remember why no one has been able to touch him, yet."

"He is crafty, and devious," the tea resumed its slow trek. "But only human. His mistakes were recorded, and we know them now. It's time for his heir to eclipse him, I think."

This time, the pipe paused. "So. You will make him into a hunter?"

The rustle of a kimono being adjusted sounded, before the answer came. "He will have plenty of reason."

"Nn," the reply admitted positively. "So he will. And what of his name, that you bear? What of your family?"

"I'll be... severing my ties to that tonight, with any luck. My eldest niece has assured me that she would welcome me back once the stain on my honor has been removed." A musical laugh escaped the woman. "She is such a lovely girl, though her sister needs quite a bit of work."

"So I've heard," the wizened voice grunted, a faint note of annoyance present. "And the various entanglements?"

The silky whisper of a blade being unsheathed slightly, before being slid home replied. "There is no knot that cannot be undone, either by understanding, patience, or the proper application of force. I'll let them have a chance at doing things easily. If they pass, then I'll make some examples."

Laughter met that answer. "You've grown bloodthirsty. It's a good look for you."

"It does match my hair, does it not?"

–

Ranma stepped into the dojo, running a hand along the wall, the corner, the doorway as he did so. The wood was smooth, clean, unmarked by time and wear. It was all new – well, mostly new. A few weeks prior it had been rebuilt from the complete ruin it had been rendered into, with a lot of help from those that caused that initial damage. Ranma let his mind wander back to that day, where he'd nearly gotten married, frowning severely. So many things had been wrong with that day. So many things could have been made worse had it not gone as it did.

"I'm glad you came to speak with me, son."

Broken from his depressing thoughts nearly before they began, Ranma looked up and nodded once to his mother, noting how the woman sat in the middle of the floor apparently at ease. "Sounded important. What's up?"

Nodoka let a wry grin bend her lips. "So blunt, as always. Yes, son, I consider it important," she replied, closing her eyes. "I wished to speak to you about the future – more specifically, your future."

Blinking in confusion, Ranma sat near the older woman, "What do you mean?"

"I know your father had poor opinions of a great number of things outside of the Art," Nodoka continued, folding her hands into her sleeves. "Education being high on the list. However, I do not share his views on such a thing," she pointed out, opening a single eye. "Recently, I spoke with your teacher, Hinako Ninomiya."

Ranma paled, looking away anxiously. "Ah, yeah. You see-"

The woman held up a hand, stopping her son's stumbling explanation before it truly began. "She had much to say, but the gist was that she was impressed with your progress this last year."

Mouth working silently, the pigtailed martial artist floundered for a moment. "Uh. She is?"

"Quite," Nodoka replied. "In fact, she referred to your improvement this last year as nearly miraculous. I'm curious, however," the woman mused, smiling slightly as she looked out the window. "Why did you wait so long to show your keen mind?"

"It wasn't like that," the young man muttered, looking peevish. "I'm not dumb. I just never got a chance to really settle down and focus. And, well, like you said earlier. Pops isn't much for anything outside the Art, or his schemes."

Nodoka nodded quietly, returning a serene gaze to her son. "So. I suppose then, that you've considered college?"

Wincing, Ranma shook his head. "I... no. It's never really seemed like an option. Not with everything that's been going on..."

Humming, the young man's mother shook her head slowly. "I was concerned about that. Though, I do have a solution, if you're willing to solve a few of your problems easily."

Eyes narrowing, Ranma considered those words before hesitantly asking, "How? Easy is never really good, for me. Just saying."

Chuckling quietly into her sleeve, the woman nodded. "So I've seen. But, this truly has been weighing on my mind, since I want you to succeed at life, wherever it takes you."

"Honestly thought it was taking me right here," Ranma muttered, though loud enough to be heard.

Nodoka smiled as she considered the sleeve of her kimono wryly. "True. Though, perhaps not so much anymore. This weekend I would like you to accompany me to Tokyo. I would like for you to see the University I attended, and see if it is somewhere you would like to try for as well."

Ranma stared at his mother, her meaning obvious. "Y-You went to Todai? But-"

"Why do I live nearly like a hermit?" His mother asked with a secretive smile. "Because I'm simple, in my needs. And I do work," she added with another quiet chuckle. "I just do so infrequently."

"I... I didn't know. I wish I did," Ranma muttered, looking stricken. "There's a lot I still don't know about you. Kinda makes me sad."

Nodoka smiled radiantly at her son. "We shall remedy some of that distance and lack this weekend then."

Smiling slightly in return, Ranma nodded. "I'd like that."

"As would I," the woman noted, her happy expression falling away slightly. "I'm hesitant to bring up the next question, so please don't get angry or assume anything. Can you do that?" Seeing Ranma's hesitant nod, the woman took a stilling breath. "Are there any women in your life, those with engagements or other ties to you, that you look on romantically?"

Though the topic was often one that made Ranma react in a knee-jerk fashion, he kept his head cool, and actually gave it some thought. "I wish I could say Akane, but..."

"But with her lack of trust, and the already strained situation, you cannot, can you?" Her only reply was a slight shake of the young man's head. "Alright. Thank you for telling me," she stated with a reassuring smile. "The main reason I ask, is because it has become clear to me that Akane Tendo is... unsuitable as a wife for you."

Ranma stared, before leaning backwards in mild shock, "What? What are you talking about?" What was with this sudden change in direction? It had been nearly impossible to dissuade everyone from another wedding, for all of nearly two years now, but suddenly it was all over with? "But... Pops and Tendo. What about the schools?"

"Your father's ambition to join the schools is a joke," a new voice intruded, causing the young man to spin around, finally sighting the diminutive figure in the rafters. "One I hope you've not bought into."

His argument around Akane momentarily forgotten, Ranma stared at the old man. "Happosai? What are you doing here?"

"I asked him to come," Nodoka chimed in, offering the wizened old man a brief nod. "I sought clarification on the terms of your father's agreement, as it was based on the branch schools of grandmaster Happosai's own Art. His opinion has been most... enlightening."

Looking between what were easily two of the the three most dangerous influences on his continued life, Ranma swallowed thickly. "Er, how so?"

The old man hopped down nimbly from his place above them, settling next to Ranma's mother. Shortly after, he spoke, steering the conversation into the direction he desired. "Tell me, Ranma, what is there of the Tendo-ryū that you don't already have significant mastery of? I'll answer for you – nothing. After my imprisonment, Soun did nothing to advance his own school beyond what I taught him. In fact, it seems he's forgotten more than he practices.

"Your father on the other hand, did advance the school, or at least tried to," the old man groused, shaking his head. "Though he sealed the most advanced aspects of his work. That aside though, something had nagged at my mind for a while now. Tell me, what did he do, during your training trip while you worked with various masters, monks, and practitioners of other Arts?"

Fidgeting under the grandmaster's intense scrutiny, mirrored by his mother's own, Ranma looked away as he spoke. "Mostly... nothing. He'd leave me there and wander off, or do something else."

Nodoka smiled grimly, continuing to steer the conversation, "Why do you think that is?"

"Dunno," Ranma replied with a shrug. "He could always keep up with me, no matter what I learned though. I guess he just didn't need to learn..." blinking, the young man's contemplative expression became a frown. "Wait..."

"Ah, so you're getting it," Happosai muttered, tapping his pipe against his palm. "He didn't need to learn those things, because_ I_ already taught them to him. He could have instructed you nearly as thoroughly from any dojo in Japan. Though, I admit there are certain benefits to training trips, I think however that those weren't on Genma's mind."

His own mind racing, Ranma recalled all the things that could have been avoided, had he just stayed home and learned with his father. Topping the list was his curse, shortly followed by his engagements, and all the rivals they seemed to attract. Fist clenched until his knuckles whitened, Ranma bowed his head and tried to get his anger under control. "...I see."

"Not yet. Not completely," Happosai countered. "The biggest thing those two fools did wrong was assume just because they got me drunk and tossed me into a cave, that they had the right to call themselves masters of my Art. That was something I never gave them."

A cold weight of dread settled in Ranma's stomach at the old man's words. He knew well enough that for traditional schools of martial arts, assuming mastery like that was one of the greatest insults there was. It would be like strolling into a college and demanding a degree, just because you took a few of the classes and felt you knew the material. It went against everything he stood for, as a martial artist, believing that effort and work were truer ideas than shortcuts and crutches like magical artifacts. That became a huge sticking point between himself and Akane, when it came to the enchanted dōgi from Monkey Mountain Temple.

That said, Ranma wasn't against using underhanded or tricky methods to win when it mattered, but claiming the boosts and benefits of things like the enchanted armor as your own skill and ability went against all he stood for. There was a huge distinction between using such a thing as a tool, and being used by the idea it gave as something else.

Though, that did bring up another question to the young martial artist, "Wait, so why didn't you do anything when you came back? It was obvious they set up their own schools based on yours, why not disband them?" Wincing, Ranma paled at his own query, his mouth working faster than his mind. "N-Not that I want that!"

Happosai chuckled, lighting his pipe. "Honestly? I let those two buffoons continue their little farce for your sake."

"Me?"

"You've got more potential in one arm than Soun's shown since I took him on," the old man stated flatly. "And as for your father, I've seen the morning spars. Even if he resorted to his supposed sealed methods, you've already developed counters, or can use them against him and would win easily." Happosai's expression soured slightly. "Above that, you have Amazon tricks as well, that he lacks. You understand the heart of the school. Adaptability."

Nodoka chimed in at this point. "I still don't understand, master Happosai, why it is that he took Ranma away for so long. Do you know? It seems so... accessory, as you explained it earlier."

"Ah, No-chan, I've wondered that myself," the old man muttered, shaking his head. Ranma was a bit perturbed by the old man's familiarity with his mother of all people, but knew better than to say anything, with the kind of conversation they were having. He wanted to see where it was going more than he felt the need to defend his mother's honor, when she herself seemed unaffected. "Tell me, Ranma... was Jusenkyo a planned stop for your trip?"

"Well, yeah. He had a book on it and everything," the young man replied, scratching his head as he tried to recall any discussions he and his father had about their plans, as they traveled. There weren't many points that Genma talked about where they were planning to go, but a lot of times he did have times in mind it seemed. Not a schedule really, but he always seemed rushed. "Not sure if it was planned from the start, though."

Humming quietly, Nodoka raised a hand, to tap at her chin. "I recall him saying that China was a final goal, but nothing specific."

"Wait. Yeah, his postcard to the Tendo mentioned that it was the last planned stop that he'd discussed with Soun," Ranma recalled, slapping a fist into his hand. "So, he had it in mind, at least from the beginning."

Happosai nodded with a frown. "Then the question is, why did he go? I would think he would have heeded the warnings there-"

"Pops doesn't know Chinese, though," Ranma blurted out.

"Says who?" The old man countered. "Half the things I taught him were from scrolls out of China. His source materials for the Senkens I know were based of scrolls I allowed him to steal, thinking he was being crafty and devious. Those were in Chinese as well." Relighting his pipe as it had burned down, Happosai frowned, "I would wager that most of Ono's materials he worked with briefly were as well, considering he used Japanese and Chinese methods."

Nodoka went very, very still. "Are you saying, master, that my husband intentionally took my son to be cursed?"

Happosai shook his head slowly. "I can't say for certain. The man knew my weakness for the fairer sex early on. I wouldn't put it past him to use his son this way, considering how often it seems he's do so, in other fashions.

"It would make sense, however," he continued, addressing Nodoka, oblivious or uncaring at how Ranma's posture had changed from anxiety from when he arrived to barely contained fury. "He gets the boy cursed as a way to counter me, and pushes the Saotome-Tendo marriage to ensure his retirement." Snorting, the old man shook his head with a disgusted look. "In fact, the curse could have ensured that if Soun only had sons, that they could still continue their plans. That's the only excuse he could have had for his drive to join the schools after seeing Tendo's poor advancement over those years he was gone. It makes me think he didn't care what the man did – only what he could offer."

"For his side, Tendo gets a superb teacher, in the way of Ranma, under his dojo. He retains ownership, but now doesn't have to do any work," the red haired older woman murmured, nodding. "That was likely my husband's offer on the agreement. As obviously the Art has nothing to do with the engagement, as things stand."

The old man nodded sagely. "I recall Tendo saying that the other daughters would serve as well. Obviously the Art was, if anything, an excuse, rather than the goal."

"But," Nodoka frowned, glancing to her irate son briefly, "why would he endanger his plan, with the other engagements?"

"Think, woman!" Happosai growled, shaking his head. "What better motivation is there, to cause a man or woman to fight, than love or lust? Recall Troy, offhand? No, the best training to be had is from another martial artist, and with a constant and consistent supply of rivals, Ranma would never need to go elsewhere to train again." Laughing suddenly, the old man slapped the floor. "Ha! They'd go and learn new techniques, just to bring to him to learn, in fact! Ingenious, if maddening. This way, once he put down roots, the boy would never have need to travel or seek out new teachers, to learn more of the Art. People would come to him."

Ranma, having heard enough, stood suddenly and began marching for the door. "Son?" Blinking for a moment at her child's rude behavior, Nodoka paled once she noted his mood, from the ki flickering in faint wisps off his body. "Ranma, don't to anything rash-"

"Gonna kill that old bastard," the young man snarled over his shoulder, slamming the dojo's sliding door back so hard that it splintered in the frame. "He's a dead man!"

Once the sound of Ranma's pursuit grew distant, Nodoka abandoned her semblance of concerned worry. "He'll be able to track him?"

"Easily," the grandmaster replied, tapping out his pipe so he could replace it in his robe. "I know the boy, and he knows Genma's most powerful tricks. He'd have found a counter for the Umisenken as soon as he realized the fat fool could use it against him."

Humming, Nodoka didn't look convinced. "Why would he suspect Genma to do so?" Happosai turned an incredulous stare back at the woman, who smiled cattily at him suddenly. "Please, master. I know you implied as much to him. You have as much staked in him as I do."

Happosai grunted in annoyance. "You're too canny for your own good, No-chan. Lets go find the boy, before he finishes the fat fool off."

Smiling unpleasantly, the woman nodded. "No, we can't have that. Not before I have a few words of my own with my dear husband."

–

As Ranma had expected, somehow Genma managed to get wind that he was unhappy with him, and made himself scarce. He had a few ways to counter that, but with his anger burning through him like molten metal in his veins, the young martial artist discarded subtlety, instead pausing on a rooftop a few blocks beyond the Tendo home. He'd dashed from the dojo hearing Nabiki say that his father had left, but now that his initial anger had cooled somewhat, the martial artist considered the source and frowned. Letting his ki flow free for a moment, he let it gather currents of wind about him as he paused, casting his eyes about. Standing tall with his clothing dancing about in the currents, he focused on the sound of that wind, the whispering that lurked just underneath.

"Where is he...?"

Almost eagerly, the murmuring whispers began describing the place Genma was hiding, and with a smirk, Ranma turned around and sped back to the dojo. Rather than announce himself, the pigtailed youth sped full-tilt through the yard, snapping a kick at supposedly empty air near the tree in the Tendo back yard.

With a pained grunt, Genma appeared mid-flight before impacting the nearby wall, cracking stone and plaster. Recovering quickly, the bald elder Saotome engaged his son, knowing full-well that he had no chance to outrun him. "Ungrateful boy! Attacking your father for no reason!"

The man's jibe washed over Ranma, who had drenched his emotions in the Soul of Ice the moment he began his attack. Meeting his father in midair, Ranma countered an arcing overhead smash by turning his torso to the side, then swinging above the extended arm. With the aerial high ground now in his favor, Ranma hammered at his father's guard mercilessly, each blocked strike pushing the older man closer to the ground, while he reinforced his superior position.

A meter before he touched down, Genma abandoned his guarding posture, taking advantage of Ranma's frenzied assault to set up a counter, catching and throwing the young man across the lawn and into the ever-present koi pond. The tactic was sound, as Ranma would need a moment to adjust his – now her – clothing, giving the older martial artist an opportunity to recoup. "Sloppy, boy. Should have seen that coming!"

"I did," came the quiet reply, though it wasn't from the pond. Spinning, but too slow, Genma took three of the five strikes from a now female Ranma's_ Haku Dato Shin Shō_, the ki-reinforced impacts to his spine dizzying the older man for critical moments. Not one to simply wait for the next blow, Genma ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding a kick that cleaved the air where his head had just been.

His frown became a scowl, considering the power and techniques Ranma was using. "...something on your mind, boy?" Recovered from his own sealed-style's sneak attack, Genma countered with a braced kick, his hands against the ground while his sandal-clad feet rocketed for the now-redhead's chin.

"..." Ranma's eyes narrowed, as she ducked to the side, avoiding the strong blow. She countered by striking at the exposed joints with knife-hand attacks, a tactic the martial artist almost never employed, as it could cause permanent harm. Caught by surprise, Genma had no time to defend or dodge and took the hits against his ankle and knee with a heavy grunt, flipping backwards gingerly to inspect the damage.

He almost collapsed where he landed, as his left ankle buckled under him. "What the hell, boy! What's gotten into you?"

Foregoing any kind of response, Ranma dashed in again, dropping all pretense of holding back. Surprised and worried now, Genma could do nothing but defend as his son's blue eyes stared out at him like chipped ice, as the cursed boy's female form brutalized him every time there was a chink in his defense, slowly dismantling him.

A knee to the inner thigh, cramping and slowing that leg.

Knife-hand strike to the wrist, numbing and inflaming the tendons for that hand, making it refuse to respond.

An elbow-strike to the ear, upsetting his balance and forcing him to gain distance or be open for a finishing blow.

Genma managed to gain that distance with a rolling dive, and a kick-off from the ground. Landing steadily despite being on one foot, the man dropped his own internal limits with a dire scowl. Though it was weak, the vacuum blade howled in towards Ranma's position, while he worked to restore critical functions to his limbs with pressure points. He'd suffer the more for it later, but right now he had a child to teach respect to. The blade would cut, but not cripple at that strength.

He did not expect Ranma to fall into a Ba Gua stance, rotating her arms wildly while slipping to the side of the blade, coaxing it around her body in a half circle before sending it screaming back at him, larger and vastly more lethal. Stunned, Genma would have lost his arm to the blade had he not managed to sheathe it in a second forming blade just in time to deflect the impact with explosive result.

Collapsing air pressure destabilized from the two threw the man like a phantom punch in the back, rolling him across the ground. Seeing his trajectory and the redheaded form of his cursed child waiting for him, Genma abandoned all pretense of their fight being a simple spar, using a modified_ Shichū Rakuchi Sei_ to kick the girl's legs out from under her. He immediately capitalized on her sudden lack of balance, rolling up and behind the redhead to catch her arm and put her into the_ Kaichū Hōju Satsu's_ submission hold with the limb twisted behind her, and his weakened leg's knee planted in her back. Seeing he had the advantage, Genma wrenched at the girl's arm, getting her attention, "What's the meaning of this, boy? Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Shameful! Going to such means just to prove you still need training!"

"I don't need anything from you," Ranma spat, screaming at herself mentally over her lack of any kind of material to use for the break-out maneuver needed to counter the Yamasenken's submission hold. "Lying bastard," she snarled, purposefully jerking her shoulder out of socket while breaking the hold with an abbreviated half-hop that forced the man to release her, or receive a rising, spinning knee to the face.

"_Itachigime Tobu Kanshō_," Ranma announced in a pained voice. "Tiger-shark leaping the reef."

Stunned that Ranma would use such a sacrifice move, much less be able to create a new counter to one of the Yamasenken's maneuvers on the fly, Genma hopped back to avoid the kick that snapped through where his head had been. Hoping to end the fight quickly, the older martial artist produced a length of rope, charging it and his voice with ki. "Son, this ends now!"

Ranma stood by in a ready stance while ignoring the ki-laced, booming call of the balding martial artist before her. With one arm, she'd be at a disadvantage, but not much of one. Genma was after all still dealing with a nearly broken ankle, and a mostly disabled hand. Those were the thoughts she was mulling over, as the Yamasenken's initial 'move', the commanding demand washed over her like so much light drizzle, as her resolve proved significantly stronger. Prepared for when her father sent the rope in a twisting, tangling mass her way, Ranma considered the technique with something verging on disdain. Consciously, she was disappointed in her father for relying on methods he said were too deadly to utilize outside of life-or-death situations in their fight so far. However, considering she wasn't pulling any punches and how her father had been witness to the defeat of Saffron, Ranma had to admit maybe it was warranted. Below that, her body sang with the combat, thrilling at using higher techniques, grander Arts in a fight. Saffron had been the last challenge, and even then she'd not utilized the Senkens.

But, weren't these supposedly the height of the Saotome school? What did it mean, that she could counter them without even using the opposing forms? Frowning, she bled off ki into the air, whipping her hands in a wide, circular deflective pattern, forcing Genma's_ Kinshi Kinbaku Shō_ to fail miserably as the binding rope lost all its momentum against a sudden flurry of ki-enhanced wind.

Seeing the technique a second time, Genma's lip curled. "Boy! What kind of silly style is that," he goaded, hoping to glean something from the prideful youth about this new and unknown method. "You look like an idiot, flailing about like that!"

Unaffected, Ranma crouched, his ki flaring for a moment before dying off suddenly. Genma blinked, before smirking. "Burn yourself out? Fooli-gauckt!"

Her left hand, opened into a knife-edged strike, chambered back from its position as Ranma withdrew from her father's back, the afterimage she'd left dissolving into nothing in the same moment. Falling to the ground, Genma groaned from the nearly crippling strike to the base of his skull, rolling over to better regain his breath and equilibrium. Once the world stopped spinning, the sudden pressure against his throat caused the rotund man to still and look up.

Ranma glared down at her father, her foot poised against his throat, muscles tense. "Did you do it on purpose?"

Sucking air into his lungs greedily once pressure was let up on his throat, Genma coughed. "What? Do what on purpose?"

"Get me cursed!" She screamed down at the man, ignoring the gathering Tendo family, the daughters standing wide-eyed at Ranma's viciousness. Soun looked half-inclined to help his old friend, half terrified of the violence Ranma seemed intent on. Ranma ignored them, the coming rain above, and the two figures making their lazy way out of the dojo. "I want to hear it from your lying, cowardly, honorless thief's lips," she snarled, reaching down, her hand alight with sickeningly roiling dark ki, that looked more like oil-sheen colored flame.

Before that hand made contact, Ranma was pushed back and away from the downed and panicked man, as Happosai darted between them. "Soul of Ice, Ranma. Find it again, and put that weapon away," he advised grimly, while the redhead stared at him with blank and uncomprehending eyes.

Beside her, Nodoka stood, one hand snaking out to Ranma's uninjured shoulder. "Calm down," she asked quietly, not waiting for the girl to release her impulsive ki. Wrapping her in a hug, she felt the redhead stiffen for a moment, then relax. "Shh... it's alright. I'm here."

The fist of her working arm closed and opened in impulsive motions, till Ranma relaxed and began to quietly sob into her mother's shoulder. "I can't... can't stay here."

"We'll go somewhere else," Nodoka soothed, smiling slightly. Catching the eyes of a terse-lipped Akane, her own sharpened, causing the girl's advance to halt. "Go to this address," she offered quietly, handing the cursed youth a business card under the cover of their closeness. "Ask for Mayu. She'll get you a room. I'll be by later to help with your shoulder." Nodding, Ranma wiped at her bloodied nose, bouncing up to the Tendo home's roof before making her way to the east.

Once her child was gone, Nodoka turned and addressed the gathered Tendo family. "I require Ranma's possessions – and don't bother with tending to Genma," she declared, as Kasumi moved to fulfill her request. Her words had the opposite effect on Soun, stalling the man as he moved to the fallen Saotome's side. "Master?"

"The moxibustion is in place," the old man stated, smiling grimly while replacing his pipe. Genma's subsequent whimper and attempt to rise to his feet failed him. "Don't bother, fool. You have a reckoning to attend. We can't have you skipping it in your usual cowardice, can we?"

"But, Master-"

"Quiet, fool!" Happosai snapped at a suddenly cowering Soun Tendo. Sniffing derisively, the old man turned his back to the man. "This doesn't concern you. It's, as you like to crow about, a matter of_ family honor_. So stay out of it!" Wincing, the elder Tendo backed off, sweating profusely as he saw his friend bound and hauled off by his master, to some unknown destination.

Akane stared at the proceedings with wide eyes, totally lost. "Um, Auntie Saotome," she swallowed and backed up a step at the woman's sharp glare. "What's going on...?"

The older woman let her eyes travel across the yard, and the with it, the three daughters and father gathered there. Resolve hardened in her chest, recalling all she'd endured, to get to this point. It wasn't a lie to say she'd hoped Ranma would have fallen in love and fulfilled the agreement between the Tendo and Saotome family. She would have liked for any of the fiancees, or those that followed after her son to capture his heart. But that was the problem. None had. She could directly attribute this to the heavy-handed methods her fool of a husband had taken, pushing Ranma into something neither he nor his supposed bride-to-be were ready for.

Push teenagers. Despite having her child torn away from her for years, even she wasn't that stupid.

Of course Ranma and Akane had rebelled. Of course they denied their feelings, denied any kind of forward movement. This wasn't the same world they grew up in, that they'd had their lives molded for. No matter how hard they could have tried, it wouldn't be the same. Just placing honor and obligation over a child could only do so much – and much of that would be damage. Such was evident with how wary Ranma continued to be of her, thanks to that damned pact she had agreed to.

One more nail in Genma's coffin.

She wasn't blameless in it. Nodoka knew that, and held no illusions, not anymore, but who could have foreseen Jusenkyo? Who could have understood how truly canny Genma was? That pledge had been a divisive force beyond anything she could have comprehended, and it made the perfect barrier between Ranma and herself.

Which, she had come to understand, was the point. Not the document, or the pledge itself – hah! Like Genma would ever endanger his own neck. He'd no more abide by the contract than she would have actually pushed Ranma to do so. But... it was there, and what it represented pushed her son away from her. She had been working hard to negate its influence, to undo the damage, but it would take time. Time without Genma.

Bringing herself back from her thoughts, Nodoka regarded the Tendos with an impassive gaze. "I would thank you for caring for my son and husband these nearly three years, and for allowing me to reside here briefly," she began, bowing formally. "Ranma and I will be moving to a new home soon, however." She observed the reactions of those present, quietly reinforcing her belief that not only was she doing what was best for her estranged family as a whole, but also Ranma. If the calculating and furtive look on the middle daughter, the panicked desperation on Soun, and Akane's muted anger and worry were any indication, her actions came late, if anything.

Soun voiced his own tired and wholly expected argument, much to no one's surprise. "But... the engagement! Ranma must stay here, with Akane!"

Nodoka met his eyes, making the man flinch at the ice in them. "No," she stated with no little finality. "He will return with me, to my ancestral home in Ise," the woman explained. "From there, I leave him to his own decisions – something a few of those who have had a hand in Ranma's life should have done for some time!"

The Tendo patron rocked back on heels at the woman's ire, wisely saying nothing. It was Nabiki that rose up in his place, a speculative look on her face. "And what of the engagement?"

"Again, I'll leave Ranma to make his own decision," Nodoka replied flatly, directing her gaze to the middle daughter. "It has been made abundantly clear that attempting to force Ranma's hand in anything only results in... difficulty."

"That's all well and good to say," the mercenary girl pointed out, "but there's still the matter of family honor-"

"A subject you'd do well to leave alone," Ranma's mother snapped, startling Nabiki out of her spiel. "I know who and what you are, Nabiki Tendo, and what precisely_ your_ honor entails. Do not attempt to press me."

Lips thinned to a fine line, the middle daughter let her arguments go, seeing that she didn't have the upper hand in this. Ultimately, the agreement between the two families depended on acceptance between their parents, and it was clear that currently, Nodoka was the only one that mattered. She didn't know what was going on with Genma, but this was clearly showing itself to be a paradigm shift in Nodoka's favor.

Though Nabiki held no overt fondness for the Saotome heir, she did enjoy her boosted income from her ability to profit from the chaos he caused. With him in Ise, the best she could do was sell the information, and judging by Nodoka's cross look in her direction, the woman knew who to come to, were that to happen.

The real issue currently with why she was worried about the situation was that her funds were running low. With it becoming clear who had sold the information leading to both the destruction of the Saotome home and the Tendo dojo, the adults had cracked down on her, and forced her to fund the repairs out of her hard-earned profits. With both structures now rebuilt, she found herself woefully short on money, and the prospect of Ranma simply disappearing made her more than a little edgy.

Akane, seeing the trend, kept her thoughts to herself. She was upset that Ranma would lose control against his father like that, but really, very little that had gone on was her business. That was, until Nodoka started dismissing the engagement and taking Ranma away suddenly. The very real possibility of her fiance being pulled out of her life scared her.

It also made her angry. What had she worked and fought so long against the other fiancees for, if it all came down to this? Before she had a chance to say anything, however, Nodoka was gone, leaving out the gate probably to meet up with Ranma wherever she'd been sent. "Dad... what just happened?"

"I'm not sure, Akane." Soun murmured, looking troubled. "But perhaps tomorrow we can find out more."

"You mean I can find out more," Nabiki muttered, waving back over her shoulder as she made her way inside. "I'll see, but no promises."

–

Ranma woke from her small nap to the sound of her mother hushing her, and smoothing out her hair. "Not that I mind seeing 'Ranko', but was there something wrong with changing back?"

Sleep-addled, Ranma yawned and stretched, "Didn't want to scare that Mayu lady, suddenly being someone else," the martial artist muttered before thinking, eyes going wide. "Er, I can change back, I mean-"

"Shh," Nodoka soothed, settling the currently young woman back where she'd jolted up from. "It's fine, I was just curious it if had something to do with your shoulder. Speaking of which," the woman said, raising a brow. "Did you do that on your own, before I got here?"

Ranma nodded, wincing in memory at resetting her own shoulder once she'd arrived. Having no idea how long her mother would take to arrive, she'd figured it best to deal with it quickly, before it swelled anymore than it had. Afterward, she'd just been so tired... all the stress of the fight with Genma, all the things she'd been mulling over from talking with Happosai and her mother. It was just too much. She'd curled up on the couch that was in the room and fallen asleep within minutes. "I guess I was a little worn out..."

"Understandable," Nodoka murmured, settling back into the couch herself with a sigh. "I'd... I want you to understand that, though I gave birth to a son, and despite that wretched contract, I don't care about what gender you spend time as," she hesitantly explained, staring at her hands where they lay in her lap.

Puzzled, Ranma stared at the woman. "But... all that talk about being manly...?"

Ranma's mother winced slightly at the reminder, despite knowing well that all the damage that had been done couldn't be smoothed over in a day, or a single conversation. "That will take some time to explain," she offered wearily. "But, for now at least just... don't worry about it. That's in the past. You are my child – that's all I need."

Vastly unsettled, Ranma nodded. Unconsciously, she backed away from the woman she called mother, wondering if this was an aspect of her personality that would stay, or if it would disappear causing more chaos later. Knowing her life, the redhead assumed the worst, and tried not to let the little spark of hope take root in her chest. "If you say so," she lied gamely, a sickly smile on her lips.

Nodoka read the girl easily, flinching from what she saw. "As you say," she offered back simply, with a sigh. "I'm going to sleep in the adjoining room, so you have some privacy. If you need anything, Mayu will answer if you call."

"Um, I was wondering actually," Ranma asked, before the older woman could move across the room fully. "This is a pretty nice place. What's with that, and Mayu? She seems like a maid or something."

Smiling at the attempt at conversation and the safer topic, Nodoka nodded. "She is. She's a servant employed by my family. I have recently... made amends over some past errors." Gesturing to the room they were in, one of a number in the home, she continued, "This house is one of the properties they maintain."

Ranma blinked at that. "Um, why weren't you...?"  
"Living here?" The older woman finished for her child, getting a tentative nod in reply. "As I said, there were some difficulties to work out first. This is somewhat of a traveling lodge, for when they visit the Kantō region."

The redhead boggled at that. "Man. Makes me think of the Kunos," she muttered before realizing what she'd said. "Er, that is..."

Nodoka merely chuckled. "The Konoe family is very well-off," she explained. "There's nothing wrong with that, or with knowing it. I don't much ascribe to a wealthy lifestyle, however, so I'm not surprised that you weren't aware of this side of your family's history. Not with Genma's talent in oversight," she muttered darkly.

"That is neither here nor there, however." Nodoka declared with a quiet clap of her hands. "Tomorrow I'll try to answer your questions as best I can, and we can talk some more about the future."

"Um, sure," Ranma offered back hesitantly, afraid to hope what was going on wasn't a dream. Moving to the futon laid out for her, she forgot to shift genders, despite her mother's presence.

For her part, Nodoka waited till she was certain that Ranma was asleep, before taking up her ever-present katana, slipping out of her window into the early night's gloom.

–

AN: Chapter 2 was so good too. Oh well.


	9. Chapter 9

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: Another precursor to Lux Aeterna, this one in a more exploratory sense of what could have happened, at the beginning.

—

**_The Cost of Victory_**

The throne room within Phoenix Mountain was not often empty of visitors, emissaries, or the usual bustle and noise of daily court life. Being the typical meeting place for her people's elders and advisors as they went about the business of ruling the Phoenix race, it was often crowded with the usual traffic of politics, and the hangers-on that such things trailed behind like so much gaudy gossamer. Today, however, happened to be one of those few days when none would venture here, into the vast chamber carved from luminous volcanic rock. Kiima knew why, of course, as her own errand was likely the cause. None wanted to be nearby, when she approached to offer her people's efforts at restitution to their new and unwilling ruler. Taking some measure of comfort from the coruscating colors in fiery hues that ran through the stone around her, the former Captain of the Phoenix Guard wondered if today would be her last day upon the Earth. If her last flight above the venting caldera that made up her home would be the one she indulged in earlier that afternoon, trying to calm frayed nerves over what she knew would be a fruitless effort.

Steeling herself, Kiima schooled her expression into neutrality, announcing herself with a clicking of talons against stone.

The figure sitting restlessly upon the dais that held the throne looked up at her with half-lidded eyes. "Come."

The white-haired woman took no comfort in the icy tone of that voice, knowing full well that the fury it encased would rival that of the volcano below her feet. Regardless, she didn't let her anxiety show. She would not shame herself, her people, or her ruler by being weak in this critical moment. The bundle in her hands seemed magnetic, as she closed in on the crimson-haired woman before her, seeming to want to fly forward of its own volition, to be held in another's arms. Kiima didn't doubt that impression at all, in its possibility. Ancestors knew that the impossible seemed a daily thing around her new ruler.

Pausing before the throne, the former Captain fell into a kneel, briefly dusting the floor with her wings in a show of submission. Kiima didn't wait to be bid rise, as even that small show of obedience, needful as it was, she knew irked the one on the throne. Stepping forward even as the petite figure rose to meet her, she couldn't quite find the nerve to dispel all of her nervousness, as it came through in her voice, "It is... the best we could do."

Ranma clenched her fist at her side, her only outward reaction to Kiima's words. Unnoticed by the redhead, blood flowed freely from her closed fist. Her eyes, however, betrayed her thoughts. The bird-woman flinched at the restrained violence what she presented sparked in them. "I thought phoenix magic was all about rebirth? You're telling me this is it? This is all you could do, with your thousands of years of history and culture?"

Kiima knew she was on very unstable ground. In fact, the future of her entire people hung in the balance on this strange outsider's whim, with the interrupted and failed ascent of their last Lord, Saffron. That concern could wait, however, at least until she could build some kind of foundation with the young woman before her. That was critical, for all their sakes. It would not be an easy task, she knew. To say that she had gotten off on the wrong foot with the figure before her would be an understatement of the highest order.

All the events leading up to this critical moment began with her trip to Nerima, following the daughter of the Jusenkyo Guide who had with her the map she needed to help her then-young Lord achieve his ascension. That of course lead to her attacking those that gave her shelter, brainwashing one of them with a Surikomi egg to gain the map, which lead them all to Mt. Phoenix as well.

"Escalation," Kiima decided. It was a good word for what happened after that point. Theft became kidnapping, and violence lead to death. Saffron's maturation was going nicely apace, and they had nearly all the pieces they needed to complete their work. Then, the interlopers arrived and set everything on its head. It had all deteriorated at that point, from the theft of the Kinjakan to the loss of the map, the kidnapping and 'drowning' of Akane in the new pool to build a ruse, then the final battle after Saffron's premature hatching... Kiima forced herself to remain outwardly calm, while her mind shrank in terror at what she knew was possible, if she made one small misstep at this point.

The problem of course, lay in the fact her path wound through molten lava, for all the ease her task presented. She needed to answer the woman before her, however, and no amount of stalling would help them. Kiima, her wings drooping behind her in a posture of defeat, bowed her head. "Rebirth is the sphere of our Lords, yes... but only them. We are the people of Mt. Phoenix, but only the noble line can access control over such powers, and only direct them into themselves. We are not all as Saffron or y-"

"_Don't._" Ranma's glacial tone allowed no argument, and Kiima once again went quiet. The martial artist that had wreaked such havoc at Jusendo looked about herself, trying to distance the reality of the moment from her thoughts. She was trying desperately to find some balance in it all, some perspective to use so that her fury would stop trying so hard to break free. If it did so, there would be nothing left of this place, and for all she'd been willing to kill a handful of times in her life, genocide wasn't even remotely an acceptable answer to her current..._ problems_.

Despite everything that had happened, however, she was still stubbornly chasing dwindling possibilities here at recapturing something of the life she'd had once, before Phoenix Mountain. "Why have I let it go on so long," she wondered to herself, silently. The battle with Saffron was over – and despite her efforts, the brat had survived, if only as a child. Everyone else, from those coming from Nerima to the Joketsuzoku had already gone home, leaving her to finish her... business, at Mt. Phoenix. No one else remained, and considering the nature of what had become of her, Ranma expected no one to come to help her this time... Ranma eyes betrayed her, glancing once again at the thing in Kiima's outstretched hands. She wrenched her gaze away, her stomach rolling nastily.

Akane's doll-form, its eyes closed with a smile on her lips, encased in unmelting magical ice.

There had been no long goodbyes, no tearful partings, despite all that had happened. In truth, she had expected more fight from Ryoga, considering what and who he was leaving behind, but there was none. Not after all that had been said and done. Her own father had turned his back on her, though in a small, nasty part of her mind, a voice told her that she knew this had only been something waiting in the wings. One day, it would have come to this, in one fashion or another, she'd always believed. It was chance that it did so on the bleakest day in her life.

Despite his often-abrasive nature, their parting had been very meager. That, however, was precisely the thing that stung so. Ranma was used to her father's banter and antagonism – it was how they related. She knew better than anyone how to read her father, and knew damn well that for all their insults and witticisms, the older martial artist had always been proud of his son. Now, however, that was gone. Genma had given her a blank look, then shook his head, turning his back to her where she stood, at the base of Phoenix Mountain. He said nothing, indicated nothing, as he spent a full minute in such a pose. Then, he simply left. The only sound she'd take from the memory of that day was of his footsteps on the rock as he made his way to the villages below. His dead gaze had said enough, and Ranma understood all too well the language of grief and loss, now.

She had never really imagined he'd go so far as to turn his back on her, however. She'd feared it, but never really expected for her own family to turn away from her. Raising a hand, whose fingers bore red scales near their tips and ended in wicked black talons, Ranma knew why. After all, she wasn't even fully human anymore, was she? How could she be his son, when not only was she female, but_ this?_ A bitter laugh bubbled up from somewhere within her, and her eyes stung suddenly. "It would seem you had the last laugh after all, eh, Jusenkyo?"

"My Lady?"

"_Don't call me that!_" Her shaky control snapping like so much spider-silk, the redhead lashed out, if not physically then with the force of her words, ki, and anger. Ranma's scream echoed around the room, then the outer hall, reverberating through the mountain homes of the Phoenix, rattling dust from their cavernous homes. Kiima shrank back at the unascended phoenix's rage, a lifetime of programming overriding her own brief experience with the one before her. She sank to her knees, the bauble in her hands clutched painfully to her breast, where its chill stung her, reminding Kiima what precisely it was she bore. As quick as it came, the wash of anger receded, and the white-haired woman found herself gasping for the breath she'd not realized she'd neglected. That panting halted, as she noted the slight frost along the ground, and the small flakes of almost-snow that fell to join it, as moisture was violently torn from the air suddenly.

Kiima stared up at her people's only hope for survival, and despaired.

–

"Magical bullshit," Ranma snarled at herself, reflected nude in the massive mirror of polished and silvered obsidian that had been placed in her room within the palace. Despite what she may feel for what she saw, Ranma took in the image as she did every morning since the change which had come only hours after the reality that she had won, only to ultimately lose set in.

That change had likely been the only thing that kept Mt. Phoenix standing, as it put her into a three-day sleep, letting the various parties that awaited her 'rebirth' to prepare.

Like anyone who wasn't a native of Mt. Phoenix, Ranma's gaze immediately snapped to her wings. It wasn't a hard decision for the eye to make, as they weren't small, nor were they subtle in color. Like her hair, they were primarily a bright crimson, though it was shot through with flecks of black here and there, much as her hair had become. Like others of the Phoenix people, her wings weren't the only location she bore feathers, and like Kiima she too had a small cluster of them that seemed to sprout from just behind her ears. They were smaller, and sharper than the royal retainer's own, and could blend in with her hair depending on how she set it. As long as she didn't let her attention grow too focused at least, that was. Ranma watched, her face set in stony neutrality as those feathers perked up slightly, fanning very delicately as she let her vision slip into a slight tunneled focus.

There were few other places she bore similar adornments, though to her private relief, the rest were more... inconspicuous. Time would tell if that remained so. Unlike Kiima, her shoulders were bare, as were her arms. The discovery that the usual red thatch of hair that she trimmed neatly when she had to be female for some time had been replaced by crimson down left her a in a quivering rage for hours. Her screams out outrage and denial had brought Kiima to her side in worry that first day, though from then forward she never barged in on the redhead again.

One brush with death was enough, for the royal retainer's taste.

Other changes were just as drastic. Her hands, once calloused and hardened by years of practice and work, had taken on an inhuman cast. Again, she differed from Kiima or the other Phoenix in that her entire hand wasn't covered in scaled flesh, but only the lower portion of her fingers and the upper surface, just behind where her talons now sprang. Those were not the weak, simple, fragile nails she'd borne before, but hooked and sharp, clearly made for use as weapons.

The color of her eyes hadn't changed, but like Saffron's, her pupils had become somewhat slitted, as if she needed more proof of her inhumanity somehow. With that change, her vision had altered as well, becoming impossibly sharp and clear. She could focus on things at had been unreal distances now, with clarity that was shocking. Even things close to her had an unusual sharpness and richness now, making Ranma wonder what all she'd missed with her lacking vision, for so long. She shoved those musings aside, cursing at the lapse in thinking. "Going on like this is_ not_ a good thing," she accused herself venomously. "No way am I gonna let myself get used to this."

Though others of the Phoenix didn't share the extremity of that difference in vision, all of those people had better visual acuity than even the best humans. No more did she wonder how the people of Phoenix Mountain could have stayed so isolated for so long. Their guards could see for miles, easily, warning those in their care to take cover well in advance of being seen or detected. Hunting was just as easy, as Ranma had seen one afternoon, brooding on a balcony that overlooked the many rolling valleys around the nearly-nascent volcano. She had watched as parties of three winged their way above the forests, circling for long minutes, sometimes nearly half an hour, before one would fall into a stooped dive, crashing through the canopy of the trees. Shortly, the other two would land less violently, and in just a few minutes, the three would be seen carrying some large game animal between them, in a great netted sling.

Most often their prey was taken alive. The Phoenix had a taste for very,_ very_ fresh meat. That too was something she shared with them, much to her own irritation. In fact, everything about her change was an irritation, and unlike before, Jusenkyo had not been merciful with allowing her merely one of its simple curses this time. This change she could not return from. No amount of hot or cold water would undo her current state, returning her to her birth form.

Ranma couldn't be sure, of course, as magic had been involved somehow, but having dealt with her curse for so long as well as that borne by her father and others, she could almost smell the particular stink of it in action. Clearly, destroying the taps at Jusendo had been a grave offense to the kami or spirit or demon that ruled the cursed spring, and with all the magically charged water, ki, and the inclusion of the Gekkaja and Kenjaken added in, the ground had been very fertile to work with. Whatever the details had been, the result was staring back at her, resembling her original cursed form heavily, but just as equally changed as well.

She stretched her wings, frowning slightly as muscles she was unused to moving flexed and rippled beneath her shoulders and back. Still startled by such drastic differences from what she knew, Ranma always had some trouble adjusting first thing in the mornings, as it seemed her mind reset nightly, in some vain hope she'd awaken human again.

Forget the gender curse, she'd have been satisfied with just being fully_ human_ again.

Heaving a sigh, she returned her gaze to less distracting and more familiar territory. "At least I grew a little," Ranma groused, though the change wasn't very much, or noticeable. Six centimeters, maybe seven if she was optimistic. Luckily, nothing else grew, she noted as her image in the mirror turned with her, cupping her ample breasts. Her proportions had been evened out slightly, matured with her growth, though Kiima assured her that in the next short while, she'd complete what normal maturation she could expect.

Thoughts of maturing ultimately lead to memories of the other halting talk Kiima had attempted with the unstable redhead, and the image in the mirror blushed hotly. Ranma swallowed nervously, as her eyes were drawn to the cleft of her very female sex, where it rested below that small patch of downy crimson feathers. For a very long time, only lapsing during the Cat-tongue pressure point incident, she had avoided remaining female long enough for that body's biology to catch up with her.

This new form's particular differences were not only unwelcome, but filled her with a kind of writhing dread that nearly sent her into hyperventilating. Oh, she wasn't like a common bird, that would lay eggs where human women would have their monthly cycles, but as the royal retainer had been firm in explaining, if she got... got_ pregnant_, the result would be much different than what she'd grown up knowing.

Ranma shook those thoughts aside, hard. Buried them somewhere in the neighborhood where the Cat-fist was shacked up, and promptly zoned the area for demolition._ With fire_.

"No way in hell am I gonna get knocked up," she declared to her twin in the mirror, sharing a sharp nod between them. "So, don't need to think about that._ Ever_."

"Kiima-sensei, what does Ranma-obasan mean by 'knocked up'?"

Ranma's sharp intake of breath wasn't missed by the royal retainer, and Kiima cursed her own curiosity, leading her to stand silently at the redhead's door to take in the sight of the impressive figure as she inspected herself. Luck would have it that the other resident phoenix, currently resembling a five year-old, had managed to slip his minders and sneak off to find his elusive 'aunt'.

Quickly moving to the reborn child's side, Kiima spun him around in a vain attempt to salvage the situation along with Ranma's modesty. "Saffron-dono, it isn't proper to look in on someone when they aren't clothed."

The reborn child's orange-gold eyes blinked rapidly, as he frowned slightly. "But... Kiima-sensei, you were looking."

Blushing hotly in embarrassment, the woman closed her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. "I... was waiting to announce myself." Hoping to end the spiral of humiliation and stave off any future danger, she continued, "Now, remember, Saffron-dono. You mustn't peep on others, alright? Always knock, or announce yourself."

Clearly confused, the young Lord nodded regardless. Kiima was his teacher, and the one that played with him and took care of him – she was to be trusted. He turned his head slightly, eyes trailing to the redhaired and feathered phoenix that was hurriedly pulling a robe about herself, clumsily. He had distracted his tutors because he wanted to meet and talk to another like himself, and he had heard a lot about the outsider phoenix that had arrived when he had been reborn. It was lonely being the only phoenix among their people, though he hadn't been awake very long, the sentiment was something he inherently knew for a fact. Wasn't Ranma lonely? Kiima seemed to think so. Maybe he would ask her to be his friend...

"Why's he here?" Ranma asked gruffly, before Saffron could gather his slight courage.

Kiima winced, not only at the woman's tone, but at her attempts to get the complex robe their kind favored on around her wings. "Ah, he... was likely just curious, and slipped those that watch him. You aren't exactly an unknown, and people talk." Moving hesitantly to the red phoenix's side, she held up her hands hesitantly, "may I help you?"

Ranma regarded the royal retainer and former Captain of the Guard icily before nodding once, slowly. Even as Kiima helped to settle the oddly-made robe about her shoulders, Ranma watched in the mirror to see how she did so. She didn't like others doing things so menial for her, and these robes confounded her. Where normally Ranma would just pull an arm into a sleeve, then reach back to repeat the process, now she had wings getting in the way. These robes, made for those with wings, had long slits along the back down to the hem, and a sewn-in belt that attached just above the hip on the center panel of cloth that was meant to rest between one's wings. That belt was was slid into loops on either side, essentially gathering the portions of the robe below the wings together, though the effect was similar to a high-cut dress if one had a long stride.

She watched as Kiima gathered up the material of the robe, draping it across her shoulders. Releasing it, the proper panels fell down, to either side and between her wings. The belt untangled and slid down as well, eliciting a shiver from the uncomfortable phoenix-girl. One thing she had to admit about her wings early on, was that they were vastly sensitive, bordering on ticklish. With the robe properly draped, Ranma pulled her arms into the wide sleeves, then reached around and back to loop and pull the belt tight, before tying it at her waist.

Clothed at least passingly, the recently remade phoenix turned to regard her unwelcome company. Blue eyes met gold, as they searched for any trace of the man that had cost her so much. After nearly a minute watching the small boy shiver in place at the intensity of her glare, Ranma let her gaze soften. "You don't... remember me, do you?"

Grasping onto her questioning tone, far preferring that to that_ stare_ she'd used, Saffron shook his head quickly. "No. Kiima-sensei tells me I had a life before this one, that I was reborn... but I don't remember much at all. Mostly impressions, and habits. She says that's normal, if things don't go right, and I can't prepare. I don't know what that means, but it scares me." Shivering a bit, the young phoenix moved to Kiima's side, clinging to the pale robe she wore.

"Without the full three days to stabilize, or a few hours to order one's thoughts, an ascended phoenix can't pass on their past-life's memories to their next incarnation," Kiima explained, reaching down to ruffle Saffron's hair lightly, calming the boy. "Saffron has lost all his history, all his memories."

Ranma nodded slowly, taking that at face value. For now. "So, you're in charge of him, this time? Not that old jerk we met?"

Kiima nodded, grimacing slightly at Ranma's derision towards the previous retainer. Deserved or not, he had been an honored elder. "Yes, I'm overseeing his education and upbringing myself. Before it was a position set as part of a Lord's rebirth preparations, but... current events altered that, of course." Offering Ranma a slight conspiratorial smile, Kiima continued, "Often the honor is left to the previous Lord's retainers, but even in the life before the one you knew, Saffron had been somewhat... unstable."

"No trust for those around him? Hell of a leader that'd make."

The bird-woman winced. "Something like that."

Crass Ranma may be, but she didn't want to talk about the boy in front of his face like this. Returning her attention to the youth, she quelled the urge to strike out, to snarl and demand he leave and never come near her again. More than any other perhaps, Ranma wanted him to grow up into a decent person, and being a vicious shrew around the boy wouldn't help things. "Don't worry about the past, kiddo. The future is what you live your life for, not the past." Kneeling down, she tilted the young phoenix's head up slightly, ignoring the tension in Kiima's posture at her familiarity with her charge. "These people depend on you, some, like Kiima here, live their entire lives just to help you out. Would be dishonorable to let them down, by becoming someone who didn't appreciate all that, and respect it."

"Dishonorable?"

Ranma smirked slightly. "Honor is big, but lucky for you, kid, I'm an expert. It's the things that you live by, the ideas and rules. It's the basis others judge us by, when deciding if we're worthy to be trusted, befriended, or cared about. Your honor is something only you have, since you'll decide what makes it up as you grow up.

"There's the honor of your family," Ranma explained, a shadow crossing her features. "That's something that affects everyone you're related to. Every action you take, reflects on that family, and if you're really good or bad, it can make others react to them differently."

Saffron's small frame twitched slightly at the topic. "But... I don't really have a family."

Shaking her head, Ranma pointed to Kiima, where she stood beside them. "Maybe not like a mom or pop, but you've got her, and she's been filling in for both of them. I say that kinda counts, don't you?"

A smile blossoming on his face, Saffron nodded enthusiastically. "Right!"

"So, remember – everything you decide to do, reflects on her too," Ranma pointed out, taking some small satisfaction at the royal retainer's unease at the topic. She figured it had something to do with her likely contaminating their impressionable little Lord's mind with counterproductive ideas, but if she had to deal with him running around and seeing her naked, then he could deal with a little outside point of view. "Then, there's the honor of your people. In this, you have less of a direct hand... unless you're the leader. Then, everything you do is put under lights. No hiding. Someone, somewhere, knows what you did, and that'll get around. It's also bound up into the actions of them as a whole. Best way to keep them in line, is to lead by example by being a good role model, and be swift and fair with justice."

Beside the intense redhead, Saffron shivered. "That's... a lot to think about."

"Nah," Ranma offered with a crooked grin. "Honor's easy. Just do the right thing, and make sure Kiima there doesn't engage you to a bunch of random people." She missed the odd look Kiima shot her, at her inclusion in this conversation. "Follow those, and you'll build that idea of honor up real fast, and get the hang of it easy."

"Just do the right thing?" Saffron's head tilted slightly. "How do I know what's the right thing?"

This Ranma had less of an answer for, but decided to give it a shot, anyway. "Find people that are happy, and that make those around them happy. Follow their lead. If you need a good example though," Ranma tilted his head at the white-haired woman beside them. "Try her, nowadays. She's been doing pretty good, even by my standards now that things have calmed down."

Turning to Kiima as well, Ranma favored the bird-woman with a predatory smile, displaying the slightly elongated and sharper teeth that the phoenix bore. "Get him some comic books, sometime. Something with a good, solid hero. Best way to get that whole right and wrong, good and evil mess taken care of early on."

Grudgingly, the royal retainer nodded. "I shall look into it." Turning to her young charge, she spotted the reborn Lord's minders coming their way. "As for you, young Lord, if you have any questions about honor and who you should look to, I say your best example is your Auntie Ranma." The former Captain solidly refused to acknowledge Ranma's glare by seeing it. "She is the one, after all, that we are trying to model ourselves after these days."

Saffron looked between the startled redhead and her teacher with wide eyes. "Really? I'll remember that, Kiima-sensei."

"N-Now, hold on a minute-"

"For now, however, it would be best to go back with your minders. Your lessons aren't done for the day."

Nodding, the young Lord took the hand that was offered by one of his tutors. "Right, I need to study more so I can grow up to be honorable like Ranma-obasan, and make everyone happy."

Her complaints died in her throat, as the reincarnated source of her current woes scampered off after such a comment. A long, uncomfortable minute stretched out between the two, before Ranma spoke again, quietly, "That... was remarkably unfair of you."

"I am an old dog, as the saying goes. New tricks aren't something I'll be quick to pick up on," the former Captain replied with a hint of apology in her voice. Scanning the room that Ranma had been given, she found a small chair, and sat, motioning for her company to have a seat on her bed. "As for looking up to you as a role model, I can see no wrong there. None of us could best you, and while you hold the Kinjakan and Gekkaja, the ascension of any Lords for our people depends on your good will." Kiima favored her with a small smile, "I can't imagine living up to your expectations would disqualify him from taking his rightful place some day."

"Sooner than I'd have imagined," Ranma grunted, flopping onto the wide cushioned bed with an utter lack of grace. "It's been what? A week? He already looks five."

Kiima nodded, having expected this kind of reaction on seeing the reborn Lord. "Phoenix, true ones like Saffron and... yourself," she admitted despite Ranma's sharp glare, "age quickly to maturity. Very quickly, but it can be accelerated to a degree with pure hot Jusendo water."

Frowning, Ranma mulled that over for a moment. "Won't that mess with him? Skipping so much time?"

Shaking her head slowly, Kiima heaved a sigh. If Ranma hadn't been a phoenix herself, she could simply refuse to answer, but the law of her people stated that whether she liked it or not, whether she took up the mantle of a Lord or refused it, she was entitled to know the things she asked. Kiima only wished the redhead was less curious, considering her dubious loyalties. However, she would answer her questions, and hopefully make inroads to the woman's trust. Regardless of how quickly Saffron progressed, it wouldn't be fast enough. They needed Ranma, now, and showing trust themselves would likely be the key to getting her on their side. "Most of what we 'skipped' were the years where instinct and reflex become ingrained. One can argue that the time spent as an infant is vital in forming language and other behavioral bases, but much of that survived Saffron's rebirth.

"The cruelty and maliciousness you encountered will not be allowed to return. He is a curious, happy, joyful child, and this time we hope to guide him into being a leader we can be proud of, rather than fear."

"Big claims," Ranma replied dismissively, earning her another frown from the former Captain. "We'll see when he gets there. And I_ will_ be there. No way am I gonna write a blank check for him, on your promises."

Kiima shrugged, though it stung her pride that the phoenix before her trusted her so little. Stung and worried her. Ranma made no attempt at all since her change to speak to another of the Phoenix on her own, which made her, by default, the one that liaised between the foreigner and the elders and advisors to the throne. Sure, many came to try and see the abrasive young phoenix-woman, but few were allowed to actually speak with her. The situation was frankly too precarious. One wrong word or action, and they would be left to wither and die in their mountain home.

Some days Kiima felt Ranma singled her out in such a way, just to compound her troubles and difficulties. Sighing, she decided to move forward with another tactic. Brutal, unvarnished honesty. "My Lady... Ranma," she amended, seeing the redhead's glare, "there is another reason we have been trying to gain your favor and trust."

"I noticed," the remade phoenix replied, clicking her talons slightly by running her thumb's claw along the underside of the others slowly. It was a new nervous tick, replacing the redhead's previous habit of scratching at the base of her braid. Such an act would draw blood, now. "I mean, it's kind of obvious with how hard you're trying, and how people are either leaving me alone or bowing and scraping when I show up."

"You recall... before his rebirth, how Saffron explained what a true phoenix is to our people?"

"Something like a power source. Heat and light, wasn't it?" Flipping around, Ranma settled onto her stomach, wings draped on the bed at her sides restfully. Propping her chin on her folded hands, the redhead considered the question further, "but, then why all the fuss? I mean, it wouldn't be hard to do something like they have in other places... I think it was called geothermal energy, or something. This is a volcano."

Kiima shook her head, leaning back against the small chair to relax her tense shoulders. "No, nothing so mundane, really. On the surface, perhaps it would seem so." Seeing no other way to truly explain things, she stood wearily. "Come, this will be easier to show, rather than try and speak of."

Shrugging, Ranma stood and stretched. "Fine. Though, I wish you'd done this sooner."

"I wanted you to make whatever decisions you settled on, for yourself, without outside pressure," Kiima replied curtly, striding ahead of the petite phoenix. "I know enough about your honor and how highly you esteem it, to understand that you can be used by it quite easily. Those companions of yours made such quite clear as well."

Scowling, Ranma's disinterested walk became a stomping trod. "Well excuse me for having morals. At least I don't go around brainwashing people to do my job for me."

Grinding her teeth, Kiima focused on her memories of flying, of soaring above the volcano on vast cushions of air until her temper subsided. "You misunderstand,_ My Lady_. I didn't explain our situation because I didn't want to trap you, in your own honor,_ Highness_."

It was Ranma's turn to twitch and grit her teeth. "Alright, I get it. Sorry."

Kiima contented herself with that, knowing she was already pushing things as well. The walk was fairly long and silent, as they made their way into the deeper core of the volcano, passing from darkened rock corridors, into crystalline tunnels that seemed to have been left behind from flows of magma. "Our neighbors, the Joketsuzoku and the Musk don't have the requirements we do for something beyond our own nature, simply to survive. Each of them depend on Jusenkyo for something, true, but not us. Our bond is different.

"The 'Amazons', as some of those from Nerima called the Joketsuzoku, use the springs as a tool, but mostly as a punishment. They saw the curses as simply that, and nothing more," she explained, pausing by a large ornate doorway that had a strange lock. Gesturing Ranma forward, she indicated the five spread depressions in the massive bronze lock, where it sat between the two huge doors. "Place your fingers in the holes. It will sting, by the way." Muttering, Ranma did as she was asked, flinching slightly as what felt like tiny needles stabbed into her fingertips. "The door verifies the blood of the one before it."

Ranma nodded, as the massive structure opened on silent hinges. "So, only... true phoenix can enter?" Ranma asked with some hesitation.

His guide shook her head. "_They_ decide," she indicated, sweeping a hand out into the massive cavern that the doors revealed.

Moving forward to get a better look inside the massive room that had been revealed, Ranma first noted the low, dimly pulsing light that barely pushed back the thick gloom beyond. Once her eyes quickly adjusted, the redhead gasped, drawing back slightly. There in the middle of the room, a massive pillar rose, looking more like the result of years of water acting on stone than anything lava could form. The column spanned the entire height of the cavern rising smoothly from a polished floor that bore no other natural or artificial structures. The dim light she'd seen pulsing and illuminating the room came from that same pillar, its timing resembling a heartbeat more than anything else. Feeling a none-too-subtle pull against her ki, Ranma stumbled forward, her gaze finally fixing on the massive thing's details.

Faces. Bodies... it looked like there were thousands upon thousands of them, entwined, embracing, sleeping... "W-W-What_ is_ that?"

"Hope for the future," Kiima replied in a tone of reverence. "This is where the Phoenix people go to rest when their lives are done."

Ranma swallowed audibly, backing away another step. "A graveyard?"

Kiima surprised her by spinning Ranma around to face her, a dire expression on her face. "Don't compare the hope of the Ancestors to such a meaningless thing," the white-haired woman hissed, her talons digging uncomfortably into Ranma's shoulders. "While your people had barely mastered the use of bronze hammers to better bash in their neighbor's skulls, our Bright Lords had already carved this mountain into homes for us. We were spinning silks while you were wallowing around in thatch and roots. Yes, our culture is isolated, but we still have it. Can you say the same? How many times have you Japanese been conquered? By religion, by force? The Phoenix have lost to only one foe and that was due to our own mistakes, not another's power." Kiima's eyes narrowed at the redhead, as she spoke again, "And that one stands before me, here."

"Who do you think made those taps, in Jusendo?" Kiima challenged into the silence that stretched between them. "Who do you think it was that kept the Musk from becoming the next wave of Huns?" She shoved the wide-eyed phoenix away, if gently, her expression losing some of its heat. "I'm... sorry, but if one of us came into your home and asked about your little curio cabinet with the picture and incense, you would be equally as put out I imagine."

Licking her lips nervously, Ranma nodded. "Yeah. I get it, sorry." Straitening, the young woman looked at the pillar again, seeing the expressions there, now that her mind had come to at least partial terms with the reality of what she was seeing. "They look... peaceful."

Taking a stilling breath, Kiima nodded. "They are. The Ancestors sleep and dream here eternally. Their spirits fuel the magic that let our people be what we are. But... the spell isn't perfect."

"What do you mean?" Ranma took a hesitant step forward again, frowning slightly in concentration as she tried to feel out the ki in her surroundings. When her senses neared the pillar, she snapped her probing ki back as if burned. The thing was_ strong_, potent, insanely so. The energy was different, though. It felt... denser, but less pliable.

Closing the doors behind them, Kiima paused, considering her next words. "When Saffron told you of the Phoenix Lord's duties to their people, he was being in many ways figurative, as he was taught. It isn't good for a child to know that their entire people's livelihood rests on their shoulders as they grow.

"The truth of it is, our people need a... go-between. A conduit, between us and the Ancestors, so that the magic that maintains us can continue."

Beginning to see where this was going, Ranma's frown deepened. "Let me guess, you need a true phoenix."

"Yes," Kiima agreed, her tone bearing nothing but frank truth. "The Phoenix have depended on their Lords for as long as our history has been recorded. It is through them that our wings are strong letting us soar in the skies, and that our eyes are sharp so that we may enjoy the days. You were no doubt told a brief history of our people by the Amazon, Ku Lon, but do you think her fireside fairytales hold all the truth?"

"I think the old ghoul is allergic to whole truths, to be honest," Ranma replied with some annoyance. "She told us your people came from a spring here on Mt. Phoenix, that a bird drowned in."

Kiima snorted indelicately. "An Amazon trait, for certain. Yes, our own spring was one that bore the bird curse, but it has long-since dried up. It disappeared when the first true phoenix came to us.

"She was different than us, having no curse, but bearing the gifts of both our avian natures and our human forms. She offered us a choice, where we could be as she was, or remain as we were. The cost was not so high, we thought. All we had to do, was let ourselves be ruled by this powerful creature. It was a dream come true.

"And, unlike some tales, it was. She was a just and kind ruler, gifted with magic and free with her knowledge." The woman's tone took on a wistful quality, "She taught us how to harness the volcano to make a home of it, rather than letting it constantly overshadow us with fear. Taught us to fly, and hunt on the wing. Eventually, as she grew older, it became clear that our people depended on her for the special magics that let our kind do these amazing things." Kiima smiled ruefully. "As you have likely thought before, there is no purely rational explanation for much of our abilities."

Grinning sheepishly, Ranma nodded. "Part of why I don't try and fly. I don't think I should be able to."

"It is a good thing you never tried then," the former Captain responded dryly. "As you would have failed, without the proper mindset. But, returning to my story... When her time was nearly done, she asked us if we wanted to continue as we were, and what we were willing to pay. Most would agree that suddenly giving us that choice was cruel, but there were many that remembered a time where they could mingle with those outside without worry. Some left the phoenix then, but more remained.

"The cost was this," Kiima continued, walking up to place a hand along the massive pillar. Where her fingers touched, the dim light spread and intensified. "'For a phoenix never dies, but is reborn in flames, eternal', was her promise. And it was true, both literally and figuratively. She died, and was renewed, but it also applies to us as a people.

"Each time one our number nears death, they come to this place and take up their fate with the other Ancestors. Their hope and dreams for their children and friends fuel the magic that sparks new life in our people, and allows them to continue on as they are," the former Captain explained in quiet reverence. Her fingers left the pillar, and a lingering handprint remained behind. "But, we need the_ pattern_ to fully grasp it. A true phoenix, ascended."

Ranma found a place to sit, slumping to the ground. "And we messed it up."

Moving to the recently remade young woman's side, Kiima offered her an understanding smile, her hand lingering on the petite figure's shoulder. "We did not handle things well. Much of who we are builds its pattern off of our Lords. Saffron's... selfishness translated to my own hastiness to be done with my work. Rather than speaking civilly with the man who had our map-"

"Your map?"

Kiima nodded, "Really, why would the Guide need a map to Jusendo? Did he even know the secret it held? Only the Phoenix use the taps, and the Kinjaken and Gekkaja are creations we made to control them."

Nodding, Ranma admitted the logic of her words. "The Guide told us that the Phoenix would end up draining Jusenkyo. We panicked over the loss of our cures."

"All this time dealing with Amazons, and they never told you there was no cure? At least, none that are known?"

The pit of Ranma's stomach fell at that, a cold weariness settling over her. It should have made sense... Ku Lon would have, if nothing else, changed Xian Pu's curse, knowing her fear. It would have been frankly stupid to insist he marry someone who could at any time throw her into a berserk fury. "No cure?"

Seeing the young phoenix's sadness, Kiima steeled herself, leaning down to give her a hug. "No. Nothing that the three tribes of Jusenkyo have tried has worked. But, disregarding that, we have more sense than to annoy the spirits that haunt the springs by permanently draining them. They have, after all, survived many phoenix rebirths."

Sighing, Ranma nodded slowly. "It was all just one huge screw-up, wasn't it?"

"In a way," Kiima agreed, laughing quietly at the young phoenix's wording. "A lack of communication and tolerance on both sides. Patience and a bit more understanding would have served everyone better than the hasty actions we all took."

"You'd still have Saffron, and Akane..."

Mood darkening, the former Captain patted the young woman's shoulder lightly, before resting her hand along the small of her back. Hazarding the chance, she hardened her resolve. This was the best time, of any, "I am sorry for pulling her into things."

Anger flashed through Ranma, as she realized the truth of those words, only to be snuffed out by an image of Saffron's frozen body shattering, before dissolving into flames. "...at least you got Saffron back," she muttered, not quite dulling the edge in her voice.

"There is still hope for your friend-"

"Stop," Ranma demanded, her tone brittle. "...please. I_ know_, alright." Getting her breathing under control, the martial artist struggled to do the same with her warring emotions. "That she might... die. And... and I'm sure that Akane did too. She was... uncute, and a violent maniac, a lousy cook, and she got on my last damn nerve some days but..." The redhead tried to stave off her sniffling, but the effort only made her stifled sobs worse. "I think I loved her. I think she... she may have loved me too."

Kiima's hand made small circles on the distressed young woman's back. "I saw. I think she did as well."

Ranma nodded, tears now welling and falling freely. "Yeah. I gotta... stop lyin' to myself about it all."

Regardless of what she'd wanted, the former Captain nodded silently. They'd tried to appease the redhead with their most powerful stasis spell... but it was clear Akane's spirit had departed long before they managed it. True, there were some dire magics that could return her spirit to that body, but neither she nor Ranma were the kind of person to take that avenue. Necromancy wasn't something to dabble in lightly, and the Phoenix were almost naturally opposed to such things. "I am... not the first person that you should speak with about such a thing," Kiima admitted hesitantly. "But if you need someone to talk with..."

"Not like I got anyone else," the despondent redhead quietly moaned. Gathering herself and calming her nerves, the remade young woman managed to get her emotions under control. She didn't understand wholly why, but since her transformation, it had been hard to keep herself calm. Any little things seemed to set her off. "But I appreciate it.

"C'mon. You pulled me down here for a reason," she deflected, trying desperately to change the subject. "I mean, the... um, your Ancestors are neat and all, but why bring me here? I'm sure it wasn't just to talk about how we both messed up."

Kiima took Ranma's words for what they were, knowing she needed more time. To be brutally honest, Kiima knew she wasn't ready for so much emotion either. "As you say. I wanted you to understand what it is your rebirth did for us. Without your accidental – albeit, very welcome – transformation, our people would have began withering and sickening, some dying, as the magics that sustain us became wild and unfocused."

Ranma blinked rapidly at that. "What... you mean Saffron doesn't count now?"

Shaking her head slowly, Kiima indicated a negative. "No, he is yet too young, and we cannot accelerate his growth any more, not for many years. He must learn and mature at his own pace for some time, but the span between now and then would leave the Phoenix a broken, nearly wholly dead people."

Shivering where she sat upon cold stone, Ranma let her mind slowly wander across such an idea, refusing to wholly take it in, in one piece. The Phoenix were_ that_ dependent on their Lords? And they got some kind of patterning from them, she reminded herself, recalling a part of the earlier conversation. Smaller puzzle pieces snapped into place then, and she blinked owlishly. Did that mean that now, since apparently she was the pattern... they were taking after her, subtly?

It would explain that strange conversation earlier about honor, Ranma admitted to herself. The largest issue loomed, however, refusing to be ignored any longer. "I'm the one keeping you all alive...?"

"I know it wasn't something you or we intended, but chance or some design gave us the chance to live, through you." Kiima looked toward the Ancestor's Rest, a distant cast to her face. "No one asked you. And up till now, no one risked telling you, because if you renounced us or found some way to break your change, we would die."

"Why did you tell me, then?"

Kiima smirked, causing Ranma to blink rapidly. That expression looked far too familiar. "Because it was the right thing to do."

AN: Decided I wanted things to go a different way, and so started Lux.


	10. Chapter 10

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: The basis of this story started, oddly enough, as a SM/R0.5 cross. Yeah. I was originally going to draw off an idea for a lost Silver Millennium fleet, returning to the Sol system, only to find their former Empire shattered, and the souls of their champions held 'hostage' as bodyguards for Terran interlopers. The Senshi would recruit Ranma, infuse him with the Chaos Starseed to gain access the lost Dark Kingdom fleet to counter the new threat, before they annihilate Earth. Vague Youma-demon Ranma. Was waffling about if I wanted a pairing, or who. Think I was about set on Hotaru, for the social outcast factor, and to seed in some irritation for Ranma, in the big brother – little sister vs. girlfriend thing.

Still may do that, someday.

From the ideas for the mecha and battle aspect of that idea, I began toying with pulling in outside references... then decided I didn't want to even deal with fuku at all and just scrapped the SM portion. That left me with a massive damn hole to fill, and wouldn't you know – Macross fit.

So I looked up the 'genre' on FFN. Macross-Ranma fics existed. What the hell? Awesome. And some really were. There was one thing that I noticed, however, that made me pause. They were all original SDF Macross crosses. No Macross Zero, no Frontier, no Plus... color me a sad panda.

Frontier even had a Saotome family! Perfect Chance!

But I had timeframes to work with. Ranma and Macross neatly (or nearly neatly) intersect. There was precedent however, for crosses that had Ranma go directly from Jusenkyo (or nearly) to Boot Camp, Macross Island, etc. I enjoyed those, but wanted to try something a little different. Macross One-Half (I think it was that one) had a reference to Jusenkyo as a Protoculture holdout on Earth, by way of the 'reflex flowers' idea. I liked this, but wanted to tie in Frontier, somehow.

But, there are a few things about Macross and Ranma that have to be kept in mind, or the genre's for them are just lost, and an excuse to ship or play god in someone else's sandbox. Macross has motifs that appear in nearly every incarnation, from SDF to Frontier – the love triangle, music, and a space-opera setting. The analysis of culture, what it means to those inside and outside of it, and the 'humanization' of alien ideas.

As for the one included song, the music would still fit, but I did some work on the lyrics to make it Ranma relevant, so it's technically not all icky and copyrighted.

—

_**Variable Fighter**_

Juzō smirked as his grandson tried valiantly to appear nonchalant, as the VC-33 light transport plane circled South Ataria Island – or rather, adjusted its approach to the less restricted civilian airspace. To Ranma's credit, few people who had never flown before managed to keep such a level head. The ride itself wasn't a problem, as the vessel wasn't one of those puddle-hopper turboprops, but an actual U.N.G. transport ship using the latest in OTEC production materials. OverTechnology backwards engineered from the crashed alien vessel, designated ASS-1, quickly went into use in military production once methods of doing so were made available. One of the benefits Juzō knew of intimately happened to be supremely smooth and nearly turbulence-free trips aboard such vessels as the VC-33. So obviously, it wasn't the plane's performance that had his grandson so on edge, and he refused to believe the young man was afraid of heights.

The elder Saotome did want to see the repair crew's expressions when they got around to inspecting the young man's seat. Juzō regarded the crushed steel armrests, with a clear hand-print, a small smile drifting across his face.

Ranma tried not to look out the window, but with all the motion from the clouds and the changes in scenery, he may as well have just turned to face it, as often as something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. It didn't help that it was just the two of them – he and his grandfather – in the cabin they were in. By necessity, the rest of those visiting under his grandfather's visa were in the aft passenger area. Though, Ranma was reminded that they really weren't alone, with Juzō's security detail there along with a secretary.

Again, the view drew his attention, pulling him back to look down at a landscape that he was never meant to be so high above. There below them, a literal blue sea stretched out as far as the eye could imagine, dotted by patches of sand, or more vast islands with thick stands of trees and vegetation. He'd be lying to say it wasn't beautiful. It was just how he was viewing those pockets of perfection that made him so on-edge. It was beautiful. Too beautiful, and it bothered Ranma that such a thing had only recently made itself known to him.

"Grandson, can you answer a question for me?"

Startled by the sudden noise, as his attention had drawn down to a razor focus on a school of fish that darted between the shallows that were at once far too close and too distant for his tastes, Ranma turned and nodded, "Sure, Gramps."

Juzō smirked a bit at the young man's impertinence. It was endearing, after years of kowtowing toadies. "What is your Art's focus?"

Ranma stared at the man curiously for a moment, knowing full well that both of them were well-versed in his Art, and what he was capable of. Still, the old man usually had a reason for his questions. "Well, the Saotome School is mostly aerial. I've always focused on being a superior air combatant, taking advantage of the fact most other styles have either a very weak aerial focus, or only a few forms, for it."

"Then, why is it grandson, that you are so nervous about _flying?_"

Sparing the developed island below him a brief glance, Ranma considered the question for a long moment, considering he was just thinking on the same thing. Really, was there a reason? He didn't like the plane... no. It wasn't the plane, so much as the lack of control. He didn't like being at the mercy and whim of an unknown and faceless man whom he'd never spoken with. It just went against all he'd learned and done so far in his life. As his mind ground about the problem, he noted the buildings, short and utilitarian, that were dotted across the sea-bound landscape. A large mountain, probably volcanic at some point, obscured his view of the far side, though he could see an indistinct something out there, obscured by massive tarps and a still under-construction dome, likely to protect it from the elements.

Returning his attention to his grandfather, Ranma shrugged. "Not sure, I guess. Got a few reasons, but no clear one."

Juzō hummed in thought, before sparing the young man a knowing grin. "Perhaps it would be better, if _you_ were the one flying the plane?"

Laughing quietly, Ranma shook his head. "No way, Gramps. Why'd I do somethin' like that?" Turning his attention back to the sea with a slight twitch, the young man chuckled again. "I've spent too much of my life on the Art to do anything else. I've pretty much come to grips with the idea it's what I'll do from here on out."

Leaning back in his seat and folding his hands before him, Juzō nodded amicably. "As you say, grandson. As you say."

Some minutes later the pilot announced that they were in the final approach to South Ataria, rousing Ranma from his attempts to stare down the ocean below. Turning back to the static view inside the plane, he asked a question that had been on his mind for some time now, "So, Gramps... mom mentioned that you work for the U.N., but what is it you actually do? She's never said."

Juzō rubbed at his chin idly, considering how to answer, "Well, to be honest Ranma, what I do isn't very much. I'm more of a figurehead, and a public face. The U.N.G. didn't need a lot of bloat, in the way of representatives from all the countries they direct so much as positions that allowed them to have a familiar name and face when it came time to deal with things like television and press announcements."

"So that means you were important before the U.N.G., right? Otherwise, why you?"

"Perceptive," the older man noted. "Yes, I held a position within the Diet, for a number of years. My appointment was more due to the influence I have over Japan's military zoning commission. The U.N.G. would at some point want bases, and in return for some favors on my end, they granted me a position that would translate into no small amount of political capital."

Ranma schooled his expression, keeping the disappointment from his features. "Ah, I get it I guess." Finally dredging up how he wanted to word it, Ranma asked, "Why'd you came back? I mean, it's been a long time, and mom said you barely spoke to her, during the time I was... gone."

Juzō considered the question a moment, before replying. "Your mother could tell you quite a few tales about how little I regarded your father. I knew of his teacher, knew of his character. I couldn't stop the marriage, in good conscience, because it was my teachings and the morals I instilled in Nodoka that lead her in that direction."

Pensive, Ranma shifted in his seat. "I guess. But that still doesn't answer my question."

"True enough," the elder Saotome said. "There are a few reasons. One, your mother had finally had enough of Genma's idiocy. She was at her wit's end dealing with his lies, and the dishonor she'd had to deal with, because of him."

"So you struck him from the family registry, because she asked you to?"

Leveling a stern glare at the young man, Juzō let Ranma sit and fidget. "You, more than anyone, should understand what kind of man Gemna is. When my daughter contacted me, telling me – after nearly fifteen years of silence – the reasons why, and the regret she had over why we parted, I could think of no other action.

"Genma is a man wholly without honor, unless it suits his goals to ape it. I could not allow my name to be pulled through the mud any longer." The disdain was clear in the older man's voice, and it struck a chord in Ranma, that wanted to leap up and defend his father – but he couldn't. The man had gone too far, too many times to just forgive anymore. His last bout of idiocy nearly cost Akane something she couldn't replace, and the fallout was still working its way out of Nerima.

He and Ryoga had nearly killed each other over what happened, the stakes of their duel being forced into their cursed state and locked. Ranma had won, but refused to follow through with doing something that horrible to a man he'd called friend long before rival. They parted friends – real friends, not grudging rivals – just three days ago. Ranma hoped he was making the best of that time to take a chance on finding happiness for once, rather than vengeance, now that it was said and done, once and for all.

Akane... Ranma heaved a weary sigh. He loved her. That just couldn't be changed, or done away with, but simply too much had happened. Between Kuno, the idiocy she had to deal with on a daily basis from Furinkan High, the pressure their fathers had put on them, and the random madness that had followed Ranma like a lost puppy, there was no chance of them finding something like happiness. They took what they could, grew to love one another in their own way, and then had to realize that there just wasn't a future between them.

It was made even more painful, because they could have known that so long ago, had anyone given them a chance to just figure it out between themselves. It was the one thing Ranma knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he could never forgive Genma for. Now things were simply too far gone to recover, and both he and Akane knew it.

Working with Juzō, who had made contact with them through Ranma's mother, they managed a plan that would release everyone from the idiocy that Genma had brought with him. It was during the talks about what to do, that Ranma learned more about his family than he'd ever known from the man he called Pops.

He learned that Genma wasn't a Saotome by birth – but by marriage. He learned that the Anything Goes style he practiced was named Saotome to appease Nodoka, so she would allow Genma to take Ranma on the training trip he'd planned. He learned that she had made the Seppuku contract in the hope that it would keep Genma in line, but never intended on it affecting him, as it had. He learned about his family, his uncle and aunt, the other Saotomes, and the darker history behind his own birth. He learned that eight months after Nodoka and Genma were married, he was born. He never learned why they married, however, other than the fact it wasn't for love.

Their question on how to fix Genma's mess had been asked, and the answer became clear, quickly enough. And all it took, was removing his father from his life. Being the family patriarch, Juzō had that power. With Nodoka in agreement, he'd struck Gemna from the family registry, forcing him to relinquish ties with Ranma as well.

It had been dirty and painful for everyone. Eventually, Juzō resorted to calling investigators and convinced Ranma that legal action was needed. Genma's arrest occurred two days before his divorce and removal from the family. He'd escaped two days later, and had yet to be heard from again.

Soun Tendo had been livid, then delusionally chipper believing it would all work out just fine, then depressed over the termination of the betrothal contract. It was a state shared by a chef named Kuonji as well. Juzō took a heavy hand to Genma's actions, finding very little to redeem the man, as he systematically destroyed obligation after obligation, either bending his considerable resources to that end, or in some cases, open threats. Considering what Ranma knew of his father's habits, he wasn't surprised at Juzō's reaction in the least.

Oddly, it was the Amazon contingent that proved sense could come from the strangest quarters. After seeing what Juzō was doing, Cologne scheduled a time to speak with the Saotome patriarch. She came out on the wrong foot, some old Amazon habits concerning males coming to the fore, but other than a few bobbles, it was clear Juzō would not be budged – in no way, shape, or form was Ranma returning to China. Threats were made, and names dropped. When Juzō asked Ranma if he could identify the Amazon village from an overhead map for him, the old woman had finally caved.

She chose, like she should have in the beginning, what was best for her people, rather than best for her selfish and often thoughtless great-granddaughter.

And, only a month after his grandfather had arrived in his life, Ranma found himself free. Free of obligations he'd had no hand in, and to do what he wished.

Lost and frankly unsure what to do in such a state, Ranma had agreed to return to South Ataria island with the elder Saotome, to get a glimpse at what he did for a job. Having heard from the man firsthand what it was he did however, Ranma found himself suddenly less enthused.

"Well," Ranma muttered, staring out of his window as his thoughts stilled, "at least there are nice beaches."

"True enough, but that isn't why I asked you to come with me, Ranma."

–

To minimize the need for large machinery, the clearance nightmare of contractors, and the need to keep secrets as secure as possible, the technical and research divisions of South Ataria Base were housed for the most part inside the derelict vehicle known as ASS-1. Later, outsourced technologies would be released, and other research centers would arise, but for the time being the Earth U.N. Government kept a tight reign on what moved in or out of the alien vessel. There were still undecided forces at work, that would like nothing better than to see the fledgeling government fall, and though it was still a shadowy entity, the Anti-U.N. was beginning to take shape into a real threat. For those reasons and more, the U.N.G. kept the ASS-1 under tight control.

_ Information was power. Power was necessary for control. Control was security. Security ensured survival. _The words of his mentor flashed through his mind, jarring the elder Saotome for a moment.

"And you're sure these are untainted?"

Juzō addressed the scientist – a stereotypically imagined man, if ever there was one – with an expression of long suffered annoyance. "We will get nowhere with this if you continue to do nothing but question me, Hasford. Yes. They were drawn here, with two of the research division present."

The man in question turned to the elder Saotome with a frown, glowering for a long minute behind his tinted glasses. In his hands a pair of blood samples within their vials sat, held reverently. "Science is based on questioning. To be a scientist, is to question," the slip of a man, intense despite his frailty, rasped angrily. "But I understand your annoyance. My... personality, I've been told, is grating to those who do not know me.

"You must also understand the significance of what you're bringing me," the man in the mechanized chair pointed out, placing the samples in a small brace, upon the table. Their labels read 'SAOTOME R.(f)' and 'SAOTOME R.(m)', and they rested beside a third vial, with a faded name-tag that could no longer be read. "I merely find it convenient that you, a blood relation to the origin of these samples, would supply them. Coincidence makes me nervous. Forgive me for being cautious, Juzō."

Scoffing angrily and pacing the length of the table, Juzō Saotome took no comfort in the other man's apology. "I understand your wariness, but the material and proof I've given you cannot be overlooked. Those metals were not of terrestrial origin. We both know that without any doubt."

The scientist identified as Dr. Hasford nodded amicably. "True, true. And were you anyone else, I'd doubt your veracity, Juzō, even in the light of proof. Yes, those artifacts were made from something not of this world. The reaction they have on the blood is phenomenal.

"Much like the blood itself. Ah, but I'm getting ahead of things. You wanted to know what precisely I found, did you not?"

"That is why I put forth the request for you to be here, despite the Technology Council's hesitance," the Japanese statesman reminded.

Bobbing his head amicably, Hasford conceded the point with a secretive grin. "We are lucky that the young... man's father never had him go to a doctor or hospital, after his exposure. Otherwise, we would have been denied this opportunity," the scientist pointed out. "There really is nothing subtle about the situation, when viewed under sufficient scrutiny."

A slide was activated, painting a strange scene on a wall. "Tell me, what do you see, here," the older man pointed with a presentation laser, the point hovering over a small, strangely convoluted structure. "When compared to this one, here?" Another slide was activated, showing a similar scene, but with differences.

"The first one, there and there," Juzō pointed out, moving closer to inspect the illuminated pictures. "There are tiny crystalline structures embedded in the folds of that thing."

Hasford grinned, his yellowing teeth a counterpoint to his liver-spotted skin. "Very observant. Yes. Those tiny crystalline structures as you called them, are actual crystals. Fold Crystals, to be precise. What you are looking at, Saotome, are sample mitochondria from the subject. The second slide is a control."

"_Fold Crystals?_" Juzō spun around, his ire already roused at his grandson being called a _specimen_. He winced at the projected light from the slide viewer, as it shone in his face. "Impossible. The only source of those was the ASS-1, and even then, there were nearly no intact samples. The entire ship had been looted and stripped of most of its components, even before it landed. What existed was put into such a high state of lockdown, that some actually found the manpower to do so would be more expensive than the potential to use them."

Cackling, the scientist turned off the projector. "All well and good but... Why was it you contacted _me_, mm?"

Juzō flinched in recollection. "Your previous work, at the indigenous Mayan islands some years ago. Your hypothesis about a seed-race that pushed humanity to develop as it did."

"And why bring me these samples? Why involve me, in this?"

Realizing he was gritting his teeth, Juzō took a stilling breath to calm his anger. "Ranma displays the same kind of mutable form theory that the research division has put forward, as a primary function of the OverTechnology based on limited experimentation. Reports on their halted work on the _Protean_ power core due to a lack of rare materials reminded me of it."

Hasford smiled gruesomely. "Yes. Oh, and let's not forget his contact with these 'cursed' pools, an ancient society, and location, isolated for thousands of years. Much like the Mayan islands and their 'Bird Man', yes? You saw the parallels. I see them now, as well."

The Doctor continued, "Now, why would I put forth such a theory, when I had no proof? Mm? I _did_ have proof – proof I kept _secret_. Those samples and these from your grandchild show remarkable similarity. It's a shame that I have nothing to compare now..." Shrugging, the old man wheeled his mechanical support around jerkily. "Nonetheless, my work on this subject is far from complete. You were wise to come to me, Saotome."

"What can you tell me, then? What is your theory about this Jusenkyo?"

Pursing his lips, Doctor Hasford chose his words well. "Imagine, a Fold Drive. Similar to the one contained within the ASS-1. Now, say this engine is damaged, in an explosion, or failure, or through time... it matters not. Containment is lost. The metals are contaminated by the crystalline payload. _Fold Crystals_.

"Those artifacts you brought me show remarkable resonance with those microscopic crystal structures present in Ranma's cells, and likely would do so with anyone with such a condition. Obviously, they were 'mined' from the containment core. Their ability to lock the Fold state is impressive, and all but proves my theory, but it is the medium that intrigues me!

"Water!" Cackling, the old man upended a beaker of fluid across the desk. "Simple, unassuming, water! There must be remnants of that Fold Drive present where these springs originate. The water dissolves the regenerative matrix, carrying it to be concentrated, in a process much like desalination in these pools. Activated, charged, ionic Fold Crystal! Unconstrained, and awaiting imprinting! Then! Some form, with a cohesive template available to bond to contacts that... Fold pattern molding, yes. Cursed pools, indeed... DNA, my dear Juzō! Like unshaped clay, the mold takes that first imprint as freezes it as its charged state, much as the crystals had originally been programmed. Their neutral state being the unassuming pink quartz we know, their charged state being the hyperspace Fold generating engines we so crave.

"The pattern is then set. The pools, supersaturated with ionized Fold Crystal from that point forward will reshape anything with a similar original matrix. Having water as a charging trigger is unusual, but not unimaginable. As we've seen already with the mechanical tests with OverTechnology based on Fold Crystals and the _Protean_ power core, such mutability is trivial."

Blowing out a terse breath, Juzō allowed himself to nod. "Alright. Even though I've seen quite a lot of impressive, seemingly impossible things, this eases my mind. A logical explanation for the illogical is always a comfort. I can almost put my stock in such an idea, even."

Hasford spared him an irritated glance. "Oh? Almost? And what stops you?"

"It explains the _why_ of the transformation, but not the _how_. Mass loss and gain, spontaneous genetic shifting... can your theory explain that?"

Folding his hands in his lap, the old man regarded the younger Japanese statesman with another of his horrible smiles. "Given enough time, and... access to a suitable subject, of course."

"My grandson is not a lab specimen," Juzō growled.

Clicking off a device on his chair, Hasford turned toward the empty, corrugated wall. As a number of engines engaged, there was a whir and clatter, as the wall separated. Behind it and a thick layer of clear glass, a number of unfamiliar figures stirred and muttered to one another, all with a collection of documents before them. Military uniforms from various governments and countries were evident, sitting beside contemporary spokesmen and supporters of the U.N.G. "Oh, not yet. But I'm nothing, if not patient, Juzō."

"You son of a bitch," Saotome hissed at the old man. "I didn't bring this to you, for you to turn my grandson into a guinea pig!"

Hasford scoffed at the incrimination. "Please, Saotome. I'd not do something so graceless. From the initial examination, the powers that be saw the potential this offered. Why destroy such a resource, when it can instead be cultivated, observed? With a limited test bed, destroying the only sample would be a fool's action.

"Observation. Testing. Examination." The Doctor handed the elder Saotome a folder, with a smug expression. "All legal. All perfectly acceptable, and beyond reproach. After all, everyone who becomes a part of U.N.G. must pass certain physical requirements. And fret not, these aren't the bogeymen that the Anti-U.N. would paint them to be," Hansford added, in an effort to soothe the other man. The effect was lost, however. "They take care of their own."

Leafing through the material, Juzō's face took on a disgusted cast. "...I lead him right into this didn't I? How much of a fool have I been...?"

"Oh don't be so melodramatic," Hasford cackled. "He'll be beside the best and brightest, after all. Just as any grandfather would want."

"And if he refuses?"

Hasford laughed, a grating sound like a bellows wheezing. "Oh, I don't think that boy would refuse you much, after what you did to clear up his little domestic problems, Juzō."

Reading the writing on the wall, the Japanese man turned toward the observing room, glaring ineffectively at those present. Faceless power regarded him in turn. "I don't have a choice in this do I?"

"There are already two other primary contacts we could tap, Saotome. Why fight it? With or without you, we will acquire access to this resource.

"And if you find us and our aims so detestable, perhaps your own offer should be taken into consideration?"

Another folder was thrown at the unsettled man, who barely got his fingers around it before it fell to the floor. "My own offer...? A bribe, you mean."

Hasford scoffed. "Call it what you will. Compensation, bribe, payment – it doesn't matter. But not every family will get such an opportunity, and if you dislike our goals and aims so much, perhaps this would be ideal."

"Frontier Project," Juzō read quietly, flipping through the folder with a pensive expression. At this point, he was damned either way. Best to do it with as full a hand as possible. "Very well then. I accept."

"Mr. Saotome, the board is pleased that you've chosen to accept our decision in this. Your cooperation will be greatly appreciated."

Juzō kept his peace, knowing well there was nothing he could do, but try to steer things toward a less bitter end. To do that, he'd need to be involved... which meant playing along. For now. "I see Ranma's potential," he allowed neutrally. "But I wonder what you see, in him? What place with the U.N.G. does he fulfill, that you can justify your interest?"

The speaker turned, indicating a man to his left. "I'd like to introduce you to Gustan Fyodorov, current CEO of Sukhoi Corporation. As you know, Sukhoi is one of the contenders for our VF-X development project. They are currently leading on the technological side of the race, but their designs lack the human element to make them truly formidable. Or rather, a human element that can keep up.

"Fyodorov and the rest of the Committee see this as an opportunity to not only build superior designs for the VF-X project, but also better pilots to utilize them."

Juzō's hand clenched at this side, but his face remained impassive. "A test pilot, then."

Wheeling next to the man, Hasford patted him on the back. "Think about the future, old friend. Such a glorious future..."

–

"A job offer?"

"More of an opportunity," the older man replied with a laugh in his voice. "Come, don't tell me you've taken after your father in this one thing, as opposed to all others?"

Ranma bristled at the insinuation, "Hey, I got nothin' against workin'!" Deflating somewhat, the young man leaned back in his seat. "I guess it's just kinda sudden. I mean, first Pops, then leavin' Nerima. Now this?"

Juzō nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "I agree. It does seem strange, doesn't it? But I've never been a believer in coincidence. Things, I believe, happen for a reason. When I step back and look at this, I see something much larger at work," the older man added somberly, the truth in those words adding no small depth to his words.

Deciding that it was a good time to divert the conversation, Juzō nodded toward the window. "And, when you come to understand what it is that's out there, large just doesn't quite cover it."

Turning to see what the older man was pointing at, Ranma gaped at the massive form that was revealed, not yet covered completely by the construction dome. "Wha... is that a _ship?_ Why is it on land?"

Juzō smirked slightly. "Yes, it is a ship – technically. As for your second question, because that's where it landed."

It took Ranma a full minute for those ideas, and what he was seeing, to process. "The news. There wasn't a meteor? This was what fell?"

"It won't be a secret much longer," Juzō allowed, lacing his fingers. "It's already all the spin-doctors can do to keep things under control, to allow the U.N. some time to prepare. When it fell, it didn't do so in a straight line, after all, and some of the more observant scientists and institutions aren't playing along. There's also been more than a handful of lucky pilots, who broke the security net set up to stop such things.

"Not to mention the Anti-U.N. factions, which are spreading as much propaganda as possible, trying to force the release of the technology contained in the ship for their own benefit."

Ranma world-view was experiencing a massive reworking, as he looked at the behemoth ship, or at least what parts of it he could see. Judging by the size of the buildings, planes, and cars nearby the construction site, he'd have to guess the thing to be over a kilometer in length, and almost half that in width. The largest vessel he'd ever seen before was only half that size, and that was an aircraft carrier docked in Tokyo Bay they'd flown over.

Size aside, the young martial artist was having trouble dealing with the more important fact that the alien ship presented, by its existence. That it was, essentially, alien. "It came from space. There are more of them, out there, then."

"Yes," Juzō replied. "That is why the Earth United Nations Government initiative occurred with such speed, and urgency. Earth must be prepared, for threats such as what a vessel like this could provide. Survival is a common goal for mankind, and if we don't unify against a threat of this caliber, we will not."

Ranma understood that sentiment well enough. What he didn't understand was why he was allowed to understand it, now. Here. "Why are you tellin' me all this? I mean, sure you said it won't be a secret much longer, but I'm not..." Swallowing the foul taste his words were about to cause, Ranma continued, "...Important. To something like this. I'm just a guy who knows how to fight."

Juzō regarded his grandson levelly for a moment, before speaking in a frank tone. "You, Ranma, are one of the most talented martial artists of this generation – probably this age – which is a lot different than just knowing 'how to fight'. From what your mother tells me and what I've seen, there are few out there that can rival your potential."

"You were there for the fight with Hibiki, Gramps. Ryoga's been right beside me-"

"Ranma, tell me. Where is his ceiling? What drives him, and how far can he reach?"

Nodding, Ranma didn't need to think about that. "Point. He's always been driven by revenge, or his anger. Eventually, that leaves you. Can't get by, with just that."

Juzō nodded. "For a person like that, if their target is high enough it will lead them far. But what happens when they reach it? Or realize they will never see that revenge? What drives you on, Ranma? Where's your ceiling?"

"Don't got one," he replied without pause. "Sky's the... limit."

"What do you say we go beyond that, grandson?" Juzō handed him the packet that he'd been given by Hansford.

–

Of all the things he'd been expecting, what actually occurred once he landed with his grandfather proved nowhere on his list. It all began with Juzō saying, "Stay here at the terminal for about an hour. Apparently I'm needed and it's critical, so just relax for a while. I'll be back shortly, and we can meet ups with your mother, she made the mistake of calling ahead to your aunt, and the two of them are off making trouble, no doubt." That was followed by a flurry of activity from his entourage, leaving a befuddled and blinking Ranma Saotome alone, in the middle of a sea of human chaos known around the world as an airport gate terminal.

"Great," the youth muttered, sitting on a ledge by a window, overlooking the civilian runways. He'd come in on the other side, where the VC-33 had taxied in, but there were no windows to watch the more interesting planes. Stuck with a mundane view, Ranma decided to get a little sleep. The recruitment packet, for the moment, lay neglected in his pack. "Maybe if I'm lucky I can catch a nap," he murmured, the sun lulling him.

Half an hour later, luck proved its fickle nature. "Oh, excuse me, sorry..."

Ranma pulled himself further into the windowsill, subconsciously moving away from the noise from the seating area.

"Oh my, was that your foot? I'm terribly-! Oh. I'll just... hey! ...be on my way."

Stifling a yawn, the young man grumbled about noisy tomboys, tucking his knees up against his chest a bit closer.

"Uaaah. This isn't wor- Hey! Well I'm sorry! Listen, you half-witted moron, just get over it, before I get pissed!"

Eye twitching, Ranma sniffed, shuffling back against the cool pane of reinforced glass.

"Alright! That's it!" A few muffled screams and a staccato of loud impacts finally woke Ranma fully, who turned to regard the source of the commotion. It proved to be a young woman who stood panting, her arms straight down at her sides, fists clenched. She wasn't tall – maybe a handful of centimeters shorter than him – and had shoulder-length hair in a strange pale lavender, pulled up into a ponytail. Atop her head was a black ball-cap with a corporate logo depicting a tangle of blue lines and a bold "SU", while her jacket had the same. Said jacket was unzipped, showing off a figure that could have been a match for Ranma's female form, if sporting a bit more height and slimmer hips. Around her and the benches and chairs she stood between, a handful of twitching men groaned, bent into interesting shapes. "Next person that tries to cop a feel while I'm trying to find a seat gets a one-way ticket to Traction City!"

"Huh, didn't know Akane had a cousin," Ranma muttered, before he yawned hugely. Shrugging off the sight, he settled his forehead back on his knees, fully intending to ignore the world till his grandfather or mother arrived.

A warm pressure on his shoulder and a light tap forced those comfortable plans back into the grumbling darkness of his mind. Turning his head slowly, he noted the young woman from earlier, leaning against his shoulder. Or, she would be, if certain parts of her weren't rather ahead of the rest. Stormy blue eyes met those of crystal hue pale enough to seem almost washed out, "...yeah?"

"Ah, would you mind if I sat there?"

Ranma eyed the mostly clear seats, the benches – now vacant, their previous cargo now moaning and twitching on the floor – then the opposite side of the windowsill, where she was pointing. He then turned back to the buxom young woman, standing nervously at his shoulder. "...why?"

Blinking rapidly for a second, she replied, "Oh, well. You don't strike me as a pervert, or a lech. So I was hoping I could sit there."

The irony of her statement almost coaxed a smile out of Ranma, who shrugged. "Sure. Just don't expect a lot of conversation."

"Great! Thanks, I really appreciate it. My name's Serafina Polyansky – just Sera for short. What's your name?"

"Ah, Ranma. Saotome." It was at this point that Ranma realized this very not-Japanese person was speaking to him in very passable Japanese. Better than his, if he was being honest. "Ah, just wonderin', isn't that name Russian?"

For the first time since she'd began speaking with him, the young woman frowned. "Well, yes. Is that a problem?"

Ranma shook his head, "No, but I was just wonderin' why you're speaking Japanese, since well, you're not."

"Oh, well." Shrugging, Sera slumped to a seat, causing interesting reactions to pass through the nearby males, watching the spectacle. "South Ataria is part of a Japan-controlled archipelago. Most of the businesses and offices in the islands are bilingual, but the primary language is Japanese. I picked it up about two years ago, when my sister started working for the U.N. before the globalization."

That got a reaction out of the young man. "Two years? Not bad, you must be pretty smart."

Sera laughed musically, "No, no. Not really. My sister says I'm a bit of an air-head."

Ranma snorted in reply, "Hell, I'm still lousy at English after two years. Eighteen and high-school may as well have been one long recess. If you got that with Japanese in so short a time, I think you qualify for 'smart'." Recalling what she'd said earlier, Ranma appraised her for a moment. "Here to see your sister, then?"

Nodding, Sera looked around the terminal, wrinkling her nose. "She was supposed to meet me when I landed, but something obviously came up. She's always busy with her work, so this is no surprise."

"And I take it _that_," Ranma indicated the mass of slowly recovering frustration on the ground, "is normal, for you?"

"Eh," Serafina demurred, "it happens now and then."

Ranma nodded from long experience, "Some people you just gotta pound a bit to get the point across."

Giggling, the lavender-haired girl pulled a leg up, wrapping her arms around it. "So I've found. What brings you here?"

Humming quietly, Ranma finally decided to just shrug. "Not really sure. Gramps called it a workin' vacation, but I think he's got a plan for me or somethin'. Not sure what he's thinkin' though, it's not like I'm the kind of person that belongs in a place like this."

Serafina cocked her head to the side, a quizzical look on her face. "Oh, what do you do? I know they were looking for a lot of high-end technical and engineering specialists, but I'm here as a production liaison."

"I'm a martial artist."

The young woman blinked rapidly at that. "Oh. Well. I... hmm."

Ranma laughed. "Yeah, pretty much. Hell, I'm not even out of high school."

Sera mumbled to herself a moment, thinking. "Uhm... third year? Or is that second in Japan? I can never keep them straight."

"I'm on my third year," Ranma replied, grinning. "You're pretty young to be done with college and all. Some kind of whiz-kid?"

"College?" Serafina grinned ruefully. "No, I've not been to college yet. I attend a specialty track school funded by Sukhoi Corporation, with a focus on aeronautics. It's like going to school for a particular company. They teach you all you need to know to work there, and get a decent normal education to boot. Pretty nice deal, considering it's essentially free – as long as you sign on later."

Ranma nodded in agreement. "Seems it. So, that's what you're doin' here? Aeronautics?"

She spared him a smile, and a shake of her head. "Ah, can't really say."

Confused, Ranma thought to clarify what he meant, then understood what she meant. "Oh, right. Secret stuff, forgot this place is lousy with it."

"Only partly," Serafina admitted. "There are some things I know I'll be doing that are classified, but others I can guess. I just don't _know_." Shifting about to try to get more comfortable, she settled her chin atop the knee of the leg she was hugging. "It's not just about who can build what, and how fast, with the least money, like most production contractors. Sukhoi's always emphasized that proper training for their designs maximizes performance, and I'm probably going to get orders once we get billeted to scout out and assess the local talent."

"Makes sense," Ranma agreed. "But what I don't get, is why you. You're still in school, from what you said. Is that kinda thing a call you can make?"

Sera nodded, "Yes, for the most part. Part of my training was on pilot-machine interface schemes and efficiency. I may not be done with school either, but I can tell if what they're doing here works, how to fix it if not, and what to do to make it better in either case." Ranma laughed suddenly, grinning. "What?"

"I was right, you are a whiz-kid."

"Hey! Take that back!"

A low chuckle from nearby cut their laughter short. "Well, sister, I see you've already made at least one friend. And here I was worried about you fitting in."

"Nora!" Serafina scrambled to her feet, performing a passable flying tackle against another young woman nearby. Ranma took a look at the woman Sera had identified as Nora, and despite the timber of her voice, she seemed their age as opposed to being a few years older as he'd guessed. Like Serafina, her hair was a pale hue, this time almost white. He could manage to see a few strands of light blue, however, offsetting her turquoise eyes.

While he was sizing her up, his recent company continued her greeting, "Was my plane early, or did you just forget your poor older sister again?"

Ranma blinked at that, mouthing the words 'older sister...?' to himself quietly.

Rolling her eyes, Nora pulled back, holding Serafina at arm's length. For a moment, she simply smiled slightly, taking in her sister's appearance, before pulling her into a proper hug again. "No, I could not forget dear Sera, silly. You've filled ahead of me after all, though. I have a lot of catching up to do."

Sera chuckled, patting Nora on the back. "Ah, you're already ahead of me in some things. When did you get so tall?"

Posing, Nora did a little spin, her hip-length hair flaring around her. "Last month!"

Laughing openly now, Sera turned, hooking her arm through her sister's. Seen side by side, Ranma noted that Nora really was slightly taller, while Sera... was a bit more shapely. "So! Let me introduce you to my 'at least one friend'. Elainore Polyansky, this is Ranma Saotome, Ranma, this is my sister, Nora."

Standing, Ranma stumbled a second, his leg asleep from the awkward position on the ledge. Balancing on a foot, he sketched a bow. "Pleased to meet'cha."

Nora smiled, catlike, before nudging her sister. "Ooh, I see. He'd definitely a cute one."

"Nora!" Sera blushed hotly, turning away. "Mou! Stop it, we only just met. Besides, aren't you the one who's been waxing poetic about a certain flight instructor?"

It was Nora's turn to blush, and stutter. "That is, well... I..."

Chuckling, Ranma folded his hands behind his head, enjoying the byplay between the two. It wasn't often he got to watch, peacefully, while such things went on. "At least this place is lively, I was afraid I'd get bored, watchin' all the planes and stuff." He started, as the two young women eyed him intently for a moment, their chatter coming to an abrupt halt. "Er. Did I say somethin' wrong...?"

"'Planes' aren't boring," Nora declared.

Sera chimed in, "Besides, how can you think flying is anything but exciting?"

Making warding motions with his hands, Ranma tried to calm the two rather intense siblings. "Oi, oi, calm down. Like I told Sera, I'm not totally sure why I'm here, and I'm fairly sure they won't want me to pilot anything. Hell, I don't even know how to drive a _car_."

The sisters looked to one another for a moment, then back at the young man before them. "How did you get around, then?" Sera asked, head tilted quizzically.

"Er," scratching at the base of his braid, Ranma shrugged. "I... walked?"

"Modest, grandson. I wouldn't call what you do merely 'walking'," Juzō added, as he came up, making the conversation three-sided with his presence. The two young women snapped to attention, but did not salute, while Ranma blinked curiously from the side. "And if I were you, I'd not write myself off quite yet, as far as piloting goes. I see you've met the Polyansky sisters, good. Good. I was hoping to introduce you later, but this works out nicely. Come on, everyone, I was hoping to have a small walk while I discussed everything with the three of you."

Sera cleared her throat quietly, gaining the older man's attention. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I have luggage from my trip, and sensitive materials to secure."

"Not a problem, Miss Polyansky," Juzō replied. "What clearance for the material...?"

"Ah, Sukhoi, B-3."

Pulling out a cell phone, the elder Saotome dialed into the Ataria Base Comnet. "Yes, this is Saotome. I need someone cleared at B-3 or above from Sukhoi to meet me at the entrance to the civilian terminal, ASAP. Also a valet, for some personal affects to the billets. Jhoen? Yes he'll do. Yes," clicking his phone shut, the man returned his attention to three bemused young people. "Well! That's handled. Why don't we go find something to eat, while I get everyone up to speed?"

Ranma perked up at the mention of food. "Count me in."

Nora and Sera Polyansky looked to one another, then the two Saotomes before them, wondering what precisely they'd gotten themselves into this time.

–

"...so you see, Ranma, this installation provides not only research into the ASS-1 – that ship you saw – but also functions as a centralized test and training facility for the technologies obtained and derived from it for the time being."

Ranma nodded slightly, hopping lightly from post to post atop a razor-wire capped fence. "I get it. Why gather 'em all in one place, though? Seems like you could get more done, spreadin' this stuff around."

Nora watched the casual display of control and balance with widened eyes. Her sister beside her was little better, but managed to get her wits engaged to reply, "Ah, for one, the U.N. worries on premature dissemination of restricted material, technology, and resources, to potential opposition forces, as the globalization effort hasn't concluded in all forums currently."

"Come again?"

"She said they don't want the unknown bad guys to get it, before they know for sure who they are," Nora paraphrased.

Ranma nodded, hopping down to walk beside them as they reached the end of the fenced-in enclosure. From the near distance inside the fence, the sounds of automatic weaponry being relaxed could be heard. "So that's one reason. What are the others?"

Juzō managed to keep his grin at the Polyansky girls' reactions private. He was going to enjoy watching his grandchild break some people's minds, in coming weeks – things had gotten so routine already! It was criminal. "Trust, mostly. The finished and prototype designs created here at Ataria Base are distributed across the U.N. Navies and bases, following the funding trail. We can't ask for money, then deliver nothing, after all. But, the brains behind them are kept here. With the Anti-U.N. forces still at large, we can't allow something with too much potential out in the field.

"That said, you can't close Pandora's Box. Generally, we're expecting a three month to two year blind period on all new innovations. During that time, those concepts are kept locked up tight based on their potential. Past that mark, however, and depending on need, we relax the restrictions. It is, after all, impossible to keep a secret perfectly. Soon in fact, the true nature of ASS-1 will be released."

Ranma snorted. "No kiddin' about secrets," the young man agreed, before a sense of dread washed over him. It was followed by something more tangible.

One must remember two things when being the subject of a Jusenkyo curse, Ranma knew. The first, is that the longer you avoid the change, the more difficult it becomes to do so. For the last two years he'd fought the curse, railed against it, sought cures and worked to if nothing else, understand what he bore. What he'd come to learn grudgingly was that for whatever reason – be it divine mandate, modified luck, or just cosmic humor potential – those cursed by Jusenkyo were water magnets. After all, it wouldn't be much of a curse, if the trigger could be avoided easily. Waterproof soap, ponchos, umbrellas, even artifacts like the locking kettle and ladle were only temporary, if by varying degrees. The bottom line remained – the change could _not_ be avoided.

The second thing he'd learned, was that without fail, if it was the worst possible time for the change to be triggered, it would be.

Which is why a sputtering, petite, buxom redhead stood where a broad-shouldered, lithe young man had just recently been, as a low-flying jet coming in for a landing flew overhead. None of them had noted the nearby basins, used to collect rainwater for irrigation, until the jet had done a low flyover, its wake causing a massive pressure-backwash where they'd been standing. Through long practice and experience, Sera had reached up to keep her cap in place, while Nora twisted her long hair around her palm. Juzō simply sat back and watched, as the young man – now woman – ahead of him proved Murphy was still alive and well.

Luck would have it that only Ranma was in range of the spray of water lifted up in the jet's wake.

"Awe _c'mon!_ I just got here!" The redhead fumed, shaking a fist at the now-distant aircraft, before turning her attention to the clean-water basin. "And who leaves things like this layin' around!" Kicking the catch-bin – lightly, she was mad, but not mad enough to break anything after all – Ranma vented her frustrations, before spending a moment to adjust her clothing. Years of this very thing had taught her that tie-downs and straps were her friends, if only so she didn't look like a thrift store reject every time a puddle attacked. Only after a slight cough from behind her, did she turn, eyes wide. "Oh. Er... right. Sorry 'bout this."

"Ladies, I would like to reintroduce my grand...child. Ranma Saotome."

Nora and Sera stood gaping, before sputtering off responses- "_Bozhe moi..._" "That is _so cool!_"

Laughing nervously, Ranma tugged on her braid, eying the stunned and curious reactions on Nora and Sera's faces, respectively. "So um... hi, again."

Nearly teleporting to the redhead's side, Sera was darting about, eyes bright. "This is so fascinating! Are you with technical, or engineering? Was this something they found on the ASS-1? Why didn't you tell me? Oh! Right, I bet it's classified..."

Calmly standing before the flustered martial artist, Nora contented herself on repeating a scene from Ranma's past. "_Interesnoe_. They seem so real."

"Um, could you... that is..."

Sera stopped her impression of a bee long enough to note her sister poking at Ranma's breast repeatedly, and by her expression, finding it not only very realistic but rather intriguing. She also noticed Ranma's color rising to dangerous levels. "Nora! Stop that!"

Realizing what precisely she was doing, Nora hopped back a step, hands in a warding posture, "Gah! Sorry!"

Clapping his hands and smiling, Juzō motioned for the frazzled teens to follow him. "Well, now that that's over with, lets eat!"

Grateful for the distraction and hoping to avoid the usual scene, Ranma heartily agreed. "Yeah, I'm starved. So, what's there to eat around here?"

"We'll be heading to the officers dining hall, for the time being," Juzō replied, blatantly avoiding the elephant in the room, to the consternation of the Polyanskys. "Currently, that and the other barracks dining facilities are the only places outside of one's own kitchen to eat."

Ranma groaned, "Tell me this isn't gonna be like cafeteria food, and if it is, there will at least be a lot of it."

Shaking her head in a negative, Nora chimed in, "The cooks are very good, and the food is fresh. This is a training base for the most part, with a top-heavy command structure. Amenities and resources are not a concern, and they don't skimp on quality." Reaching out, she gave Ranma's shoulder a squeeze, "The officer's hall is like a fancy restaurant, to compare, so don't worry about it." Her hand hesitated, patting around on the shorter woman's back. "How in the world..."

"I suppose that's alright," the petite redhead replied, eying the building they were now heading toward speculatively, while maneuvering herself away from the bemused Nora. "So why aren't there restaurants? Or anything else? I'm recognizing some of these buildings from when were on approach, but none of them are businesses."

"Well, as time goes on the S. Ataria settlement will be opened to more civilians, to support the growing production base," Juzō explained as they entered the officer's hall. "Long-term residents will have the option to bring their families, which means we'll need more residency blocks – which will need to be constructed, by third-party contractor most likely. Families will also need an infrastructure, like schools and basic needs suppliers, as the military can allow their presence, but not wholly support them.

"Currently, however, Ataria Base is still under harsh secrecy and protection screening, being only a year after the ASS-1 landed. Our projections say by 2003, the base will begin looking more like a city, than a converted airfield."

Ranma nodded absently, having all but tuned the explanation out after a point. Oh, it was interesting, she was sure, but not to her. Currently, there were more important things on her mind. "Oh, _hey_..."

The odd collection that had followed the redhead inside after she homed in on the smell of food would soon come to rue the five words that followed.

"...is that a buffet bar?"

–

Serafina Polyansky stared in mute shock as the cute little redhead who barely came up to her nose in height ripped through five trays of food at speeds that left afterimages of her hands. "How...?"

Used to this sort of thing from people who didn't know her, Ranma paused, sparing her remaining food a dubious look. She could slow down... a little. Pops wasn't around, and likely, no one was gunning for her grub here. "Just how I'm used to eating, from being on the road as long as I have. Eat when you can, and all you can, because you don't know when you'll get to again."

From her place beside Ranma, the younger Polyansky was inspecting the redhead with a twitching brow. "Where does it all go? There isn't... physical displacement alone should... breaking laws of physics left and right..."

"I think you broke Nora," Juzō opined, nodding in the direction of the out-of-order young woman. "But I do feel obligated to point out, as per your mother's request, that you recall that you are no longer on your training trip, and that your father is no longer here to... influence you. She would be most pleased to hear that your social graces are improving, I understand."

Ranma winced, having had a similar thing pointed out to her at a Karaoke bar by Kasumi no less, before she and her grandfather had left Nerima. It was true... she just found the old habit hard to break. Humming in thought a moment, she shrugged. "Sure, I'll slow down some. But I'm warnin' you, part of it is that my metabolism is so high. I still need to eat a lot, but I'll try and slow it down some."

Juzō grinned wryly at her. "Small steps are still progress."

"Your metabolism is high enough to compensate for _that?_" Nora boggled, before sitting back to slowly work through her own meal. "What do you _do?_"

"That is the question of the day, isn't it?" the elder Saotome replied before Ranma could do so. "Ah, I have a few things for us to do today, before we get settled in. One, I have those Jusenkyo relics, that you loaned me. Would you prefer I leave them in your care now, or later?"

"Now's good, I don't mind. Thanks for returnin' 'em though. Could come in handy, not that I'm all that attached to 'em anymore." Seeing the curious looks from the two other young women, Ranma explained, "this kettle, when used with hot water, will lock someone like me in their birth form. The ladle, does the opposite, with cold water.

"Locked bein' relative, though," the redhead muttered. "Even these are temporary, just longer lastin' that other methods. I've just been hangin' on to them. Handy, if disappointing. Mementos, sorta." Putting down her utensils, Ranma unbuttoned her sleeve, letting it flare out. She then shifted the kettle and ladle into that space, before buttoning it again. There was of course no trace of them afterward.

Nora twitched, but kept her peace, while Sera spat water across the table.

Folding his hands before him, the elder Saotome leaned forward, demeanor shifting into something more serious. "Now, I'm sure you're curious as to why I've brought you out here, considering your lack of military background, or technical expertise in the fields that support such a Base? Have you looked over the packet I gave you?"

Shrugging, Ranma sat back, her food finished. "Not yet, well... Not beyond the first page or so. Kinda dry readin', y'know?" Something caught her eye in the corner of the room, and Ranma spun to stare intently at the spot, brows drawn down in a scowl. For a long moment she held her position, before turning back to the expectant looks from those at the table. "Sorry. Thought I saw somethin'."

"Not a problem," Juzō commented, checking the corner his grandchild had picked out himself. Seeing nothing, he grunted and returned his attention to the young people he'd gathered together to speak to. "The data in that pack covers what will be expected of you, and what you can expect from the U.N.G. Military, should you choose to accept. That aside, you have a week to make a decision. Consider that time a vacation, but I will need you to sign and return the Official Classification agreement in the packet."

"And here I was just expecting the vacation," Ranma muttered with a snort. "Ah well. At least I packed bathing suits."

Sera looked between the two in confusion. "A vacation? Here? That's somewhat odd, isn't it?" Eyes lingering on Ranma, she colored. "And, could someone please explain how-"

Ranma snorted indelicately. "Spend a year in my shoes, and you'll think boot camp's a vacation," the redhead replied, pointedly ignoring Sera's attempted query. The lavender-haired woman slumped in defeat for the moment.

Juzō's lips twitched almost imperceptibly over his interlaced fingers. "We'll discuss _that_ later. As for your vacation, I did promise a beach, and I shall deliver. But, I know your definitions of fun, so let me say that the U.N. has been generous in sending Ataria Base the best of the best, to serve as the foundation for the globalization initiative. I'm sure you can find some other martial artists to test yourself against, before getting back to me."

"That's right," Sera recalled, "you did mention you were a martial artist." Turning to Juzō, she set aside her tray, content with her meal, but still having questions if her expression told the truth. "If I may be so blunt, Saotome-san, my superiors briefed me on all the possible VIPs in the area I might encounter, and you were on the list. However, your official rank and title were missing..."

Nora nodded from where she sat. "That's because he publicly has none," she explained, as it seemed Juzō himself had no interest in doing so. "He is however afforded the same respect due to a Commander by most here.

"Ivanov and I have a bet with Focker that he's the head of what will be the left-hand branch, if and when one forms," she added as an aside to Sera, though loud enough for the man himself to hear. Juzō merely rolled his eyes, though his smile didn't waver.

"Left-hand?"

Sera addressed the perplexed redhead, explaining, "Something like the CIA, or KGB. A secret service branch."

Ranma blinked owlishly at her grandfather. "Huh. No, I don't see it."

"And you'd not be alone in that," Juzō agreed. "Really, I'm more of an advisor and Public Relations specialist. The brass here at Ataria and in the U.N. simply appreciate my work, in making their lives simpler. Fair exchange for a little personal clout, I'd say."

Nora sniffed, her brow arched. "I suppose. But I'm not dropping my bet."

"Conspiracy theories about my qualifications aside," the older man commented, drawing the conversation back into a direction he wanted before it strayed further. "I'd like for you to accompany me to the technical division tomorrow. There will be some tests, but they won't take more than an hour. Does that sound acceptable?"

The redhead heaved a sigh. "It had crossed my mind that'd you'd be as relentless in this as the other family I've met," she drawled. "But sure. Hell, they might figure somethin' out about my curse I hadn't yet."

"They may at that," Juzō replied while the sisters looked to one another, Nora mouthing the word 'curse' with a startled look. "One of the foundations of the technology contained in the ASS-1 seems to revolve around allowing machinery to adapt, within certain limits. Variability, where before, human technology was a strict linear idea. Form follows function.

"The OverTechnology, as it's being called, follows a different idea. Variable function defines mutable form. The two methods may not seem terribly different when spoken, but they are like night and day through application."

Nora joined the conversation, at that point, "There are a lot of classified projects around Ataria, but I think I can say that when I recall some of what I've seen, your curse as you call it doesn't seem quite so strange." Grinning at Ranma's surprised look, the younger woman shrugged. "You'll just have to wait and see."

Ranma grumbled to herself for a moment, sulking in her chair. "You guys sure have a way of answerin' questions, so I just end up with more."

Chuckling at the redhead's plight, Sera twirled some pasta around her fork. "And you've been dodging the topic of the day since your bath earlier. As for us, I think that's what you call a recruitment hook. Be careful, or we'll have you signing up to join the rest of us." Considering a moment, she grinned widely. "Though, if your apatite is always that vast, you may want to just for the free food."

"Three meals a day, in a buffet that won't boot me after my first visit?" Ranma rubbed her hands together, her smile wicked. "Sign me up."

–

Ranma roused himself, blinking the early morning sun from his eyes with some difficulty. It had been some small time since he'd been woken up by his father, for their morning spar... and oddly, the young martial artist found the lack saddened him. After nearly thirteen years of routine, the sudden lack left him feeling unbalanced, and lacking.

"Damn it, Pops. Can't get rid of you that easy can I?" Ranma mused, kicking up and out of his cot. Looking around the room – his room – the young man recalled the whirlwind of action from yesterday. He'd gotten a job offer from the U.N. military from his grandfather, then after arriving at Ataria, he'd met Sera and Nora Polyansky, gotten an abbreviated tour of the Base, introduced the sisters to his curse, then later, had his grandfather shuffle him off to a doctor's office for some tests and something he called registration.

Not that Juzō explained what he was registering for, but Ranma figured he would in time. Probably something to do with costs and accounting, considering. If there was a lesson for each daughter he'd gotten beaten into his head from living with the Tendos, Nabiki's had been about financial responsibility. Living, no matter how or where, had a price that had to be paid. Genma tried to avoid it as best he could, but in the end, it came back to him, with interest. It cost him the respect of his son, his honor, and even his name.

Ranma had no intention of following in the man's footsteps. Oh, he was grateful for the Art, and would always consider the old panda his best and most knowledgeable teacher, but as a human being... Genma left a lot to be desired. In fact, he was still shaking off the man's bad habits and indoctrination, two years after seeing how wrong he'd actually been. Truly, living with the Tendos had been something like culture shock.

Shaking off his thoughts on the past, Ranma dressed in a pair of jogging shorts and a button-up t-shirt, pulling on a pair of low-top sneakers. A pair of thick wool socks and a sports bra were stuffed in a pocket, in the event of spontaneous gender shifting. Shoes were always a problem in that regard. His female side's feet were tiny in comparison, and there was no way in hell he'd try jogging without some kind of support, in female form.

Martial artist with near-perfect body control or not, just... _ow_.

Pausing in the main room of the military housing, Ranma had to wonder again how all this was getting paid for. Sure, it wasn't huge – if he recalled well, Hinako's apartment was larger – but for him it seemed almost excessive. For probably the third time since arriving, he opened the refrigerator, staring at the array of food there. Grinning wryly, he closed the door again. He'd make a light breakfast after coming back from his morning run.

Some would be surprised that he still had food, considering the usual Saotome tendency to consume with extreme prejudice, but there was another side to it most didn't see. Now that Ranma had food of his own, and a place to keep it, he had the overwhelming urge to hoard it. Maybe he would just get something out...

Laughing at his own behavior, the dark-haired teen locked the door behind him, and began his jog. The sun would be fully up soon, and the false dawn pushed away, taking with it the cool, crisp air that smelled of brine and sand at night. With the sun, would come the smell of jet engines, tarmac under the punishing noon glare, and the sound of people.

Seeing as there wasn't anyone currently he knew to spar with, Ranma decided to make it a full run, pushing his speed and stamina. A snap decision also settled another matter – he'd shift into his female form midway, before starting the return trip. He already had the gear for it, may as well use it. After all the time he'd spent looking for a cure, and then having both Jusenkyo artifacts prove at best temporary if longer lasting, it was time to come to grips that he was never going to be without the curse.

Without Genma to harp at him constantly, no tomboys screaming 'pervert' at him, and no Seppuku contract over his head, Ranma found he didn't mind the curse nearly as much as he'd expected to. As he picked up the pace, moving at what he'd consider a brisk jog, Ranma considered that. How much of the disdain for his cursed side came from other people's views? Who actually didn't think badly of him, for it in some way? Ukyo's face came to mind almost immediately, but then so did an image of himself as female, in a maid's costume, working as a waitress. He set those thoughts aside, content to do the same with Nerima in general. There were some friends remaining there, and he wanted to see them again sometime, but right now he was enjoying the freedom of just being Ranma, without distractions. And if Ranma just happened to be female occasionally, then what of it? Anything Goes, the Art he lived and breathed by was defined by its adaptability. In a moment of satori, Ranma understood something he'd missed, since the curse became part of his life. "Damn. All this time I've been fighting the curse, instead of adapting. Some martial artist," he groused. It would take time, but he would do just that. He'd make the curse work for him – not against. It was a promise, to himself.

He encountered a few hiccups, missing some signs for restricted areas, till a helpful officer gave him a map which showed a wide circuit route around the base. Cutting across the plane yards, Ranma adopted a ground-eating lope that he could keep up almost indefinitely. Once his feet hit the worn tarmac that made up the outer perimeter, he paused, testing and stretching what muscles weren't warmed up yet. Glancing around, the martial artist noted he'd acquired a bit of a following. Either that, or jogging was more popular than he'd first imagined at Ataria Base. Deciding to give them a show, and wanting to keep ahead of the motorcycle he could hear approaching, Ranma slowed his breathing for just a moment, focusing his ki. Setting his feet, he centered his weight, and _pushed_.

A muffled crack and a plume of dust rose up where he'd been, as the abused pavement buckled under the force of Ranma's dash. Abandoning all pretense of jogging or running, he poured himself into a full sprint, leaning hard into the wind of his own passage. Focus narrowed down to a tight tunnel, Ranma regardless noted the carrier ship he crossed the length of in a handful of seconds, quietly pleased that his conditioning was still within his expectations.

Seeing the sun crossing the horizon over a now-visible ocean, Ranma slowed to a bouncing lope, bleeding off speed as he came abreast the shore and the sandy wash of beach that it held. If the map was to be believed, this was the halfway point in the perimeter approximately five kilometers from where his sprint began. "Not bad time," Ranma noted, pleased with himself. Hands on his hips, the martial artist breathed heavily through his nose, taking in the scents and peace there greedily along with lungful's of air. "Definitely need to come back here, later," he promised himself. "First things first though..."

Padding slowly to the wash, Ranma felt the chill in the water easily enough. Definitely suitable for triggering the change. Seeing no one around to comment or call out, Ranma shucked off his t-shirt, tying it around his waist for the moment. Sports bra in hand, he splashed himself with some of the crystal blue surf that beckoned.

Almost before the water had finished spraying against her skin, Ranma was pulling the athletic support down over her breasts, then quickly shimmying into the t-shirt after. Back on the tarmac, the shoes were tightened down with the extra pair of socks in place. Not ideal, but better than barefoot or slipping soles. It was then she noted the rapidly approaching motorcycle, apparently bearing down on her position.

"Same as before? Hmm, well. May as well see what this is about," the now-redhead muttered, bouncing in place lightly to keep her heart rate up.

The bike's rider was apparently not expecting to see her, though it was clear they were looking for someone. After passing, Ranma noted the helmeted head do a double-take in her direction, before the motorcycle was pulled into a punishing spin, bringing the rider back to her. Pulling abreast, they kicked the stand down, before dismounting.

Ranma was surprised to see a wide-eyed Serafina Polyansky after the helmet was removed. "You... how...?" the lavender-haired woman sputtered, looking back the way she had come, then at the obviously not-winded redhead. "What?"

Bemused, Ranma halted her stationary jog, tilting her head. "Um, try that again?"

"How did you outrun my bike? That shouldn't be possible!"

Blushing slightly, Ranma tugged at her braid. With more than a little chagrin, she recalled the urge to show off earlier, and now that she was faced with the fallout, knew she'd made a mistake. Showing off was one thing, but she didn't want to freak out the natives. This wasn't Nerima where people had been acclimatized to such things after all, and who knew what could happen because of such a thing? "Um, superior physical conditioning?"

Sera sputtered again. "That's not human!"

"Oi!" Ranma groused, hands on her hips, anger easily eclipsing her earlier anxiety. "I'm absolutely one-hundred percent human, damn it! I just work damn hard at making myself one-hundred percent awesome as well."

Shaking her head, the elder Polyansky sister regarded the shorter redhead with an incredulous look. "I know human limits, Ranma. It's what I do, part of my job. This is way beyond them," she noted with certainty. Her look became speculative. "Is your... um... "

"Female form?"

"Yes, sorry," Sera demurred, before shaking her embarrassment off. "I didn't know what to refer to it by. But, yes. Is your female form as fast as that? I was fairly sure you had black hair, before, so..."

Ranma shrugged. "Faster, really. I trade off power for speed in this form."

Sera adopted a thoughtful posture, rubbing at her lips with the back of her finger. "Alright, well last time you had a lead on me. This time I want to try something."

Still mildly annoyed at the insinuation she was using some kind of artificial augmentation to do what she did, Ranma found herself feeling less than cooperative. "And I'm supposed to play along, why?"

Taken aback by the heat in Ranma's words, the Polyansky girl backpedaled, "I'm sorry, I was just surprised. I've never seen anyone do something like that before, and it's my job to find people's limits." Fidgeting with her helmet, the pale-haired girl deflated slightly. "I guess that wasn't very nice of me, making accusations off the start, was it?"

"Part of why I can do that is because I work hard. Have worked hard my entire life," Ranma pointed out, calmer as a result of Sera's words, but still determined to make her point. "But... well I suppose I can forgive you. Not like you see someone as cool as me that often, right?"

Sera stared for a moment, before bursting out in a round of giggles. "No, Ranma. I've never quite met someone like you before."

Ranma preened for a moment under the assumed compliment, before turning her attention to Sera's motorcycle. "So, this is yours? Looks nice."

"Yeah, I just got it a few months ago," Serafina gushed happily, running a hand along the gas tank of the sports bike. "It's the latest from Honda, just a civilian model, but I like it. The VTR series like this one are some of the best racing bikes out there, and this one's a 1000cc model – way beyond what you'll normally need for street use. That's why I was so surprised, Ranma. This thing can top out at 250 kilometers per hour."

The redhead blinked at her. "Well, that sounds kinda fast."

Sera stifled the urge to palm her face. Seeing a way to get her curiosity from earlier sated, as well as do the redhead a favor of sorts, she carefully chose her words. "Yes, Ranma. It is. And you were at least pacing me, earlier."

"Huh, never had a way to measure how fast I could sprint," the petite redhead muttered, before perking up. "Say, lets race back!"

Sera pushed aside the screaming voice in her head that pointed out that Ranma had already sprinted five kilometers, nodding happily in answer. "That sound fun. Since you seem so interested in seeing how fast you can go, why don't you pace me this time?"

Ranma considered that, nodding. "So, just keep up with you?"

"Bingo!" Sera chirped, winding her hair up with a hand, before putting her helmet back on. Flipping up her visor, the foreign girl grinned. "We race to the... say to the BOQ? You know where that is?"

"Uh, the bachelor officer quarters? Yeah, I saw that on my map," Ranma pointed out, pulling said object out of apparently mid air, much to Sera's consternation. "Aren't you a girl?"

Sera's brain hiccuped for a moment, before she shook off the feeling. "Well, yes. But, uh, that's where Nora's staying. I wanted to talk with her too this morning. And it's not gender-segregated. Those are for any single officers."

"Oh," Ranma replied, shrugging off her confusion. The military, she was deciding, was just strange at times. "Yeah that works fine. So shall we get started?"

"See you there!" The other young woman sang out, dropping her visor while kicking her bike into a roaring start.

Ranma took a moment to regain her focus, cycling her ki in much the same fashion as for the Amiguriken, but without the spike for instant speed. It had taken her a while to do more with that one lesson than let it be a single technique, but after a year and with more examples of ki use under her belt, it proved an invaluable base to learn from. Finding an equilibrium, the redhead nodded to Sera, who dropped her brake, throwing the bike up onto a single wheel briefly before it tore off.

Grinning wildly, Ranma lunged forward, her more flexible female frame tearing at the pavement with long, fluid strides. Quickly coming alongside the motorbike, she shot a grin to Sera, who nodded and took another gear. Soon, the two were eating up the distance, while the occasional Ataria Base personnel checked their vision to make sure they weren't hallucinating.

Blazing through the gate to the BOQ, the two came to stop – Ranma bleeding off velocity by going into a bouncing lope that did interesting things to her physiology despite the use of support, while Sera simply pulled her bike into a hard, rubber-laying turn. The foreign girl grinned at Ranma's antics, till the now-panting redhead came to a stop, hands on her knees while she sucked in lungfulls of air. Spacing her words between gasps, the petite, still-smiling Ranma asked, "So, how'd I do?"

Sera had set her watch before they began, and took a moment to check her bike's gauges. "Looks like we pulled five-and-three-quarters kilometers in just under a minute and a half." Doing some rapid math, she grinned. "Averaging 230 klicks, though I know I was pulling redline there in the last stretch, where you fell behind. That was just under 250."

Nodding, the martial artist gave in and collapsed to her back, chest heaving. "Whoo, don't get a chance to really tear loose that much anymore. Never can find that much open real estate, y'know?"

Chuckling, Sera's eyes gleamed. "Well, if you want, we can make this a regular thing."

Ranma shook her head, a negative, eyes taking in the sky and the rising light. "Not every morning. Need to find a sparring partner, or somethin'. Gonna get real rusty, otherwise. But now an' then, sure."

Sera considered what she'd just seen, then tried to translate that into potential martial arts prowess, and came up with something out of a Hong Kong B-movie studio. She decided that discretion was the better part of avoiding a beating, and to not mention she had some CQC training from Sukhoi. "Well, I'm sure we can find someone out at the Base that'll keep you in shape," she offered, all the while knowing full well that was an astronomical chance at best, if her theory was correct. "You catch your breath, while I get Nora's lazy ass out of bed."

Offering a lazy wave in answer, Ranma contented herself on staring at the sky for a few minutes, while her body cooled down. Turning her head, she regarded Sera's bike, a slow grin working across her face. "I don't like cars much, but that thing has potential," she thought to herself.

On the third floor of the BOQ, a rather heated discussion was taking place in tersely spoken Russian. "_You're shitting me. I don't believe you._"

Sera glared at her sister, whom she had literally dragged out of bed by the arm. "_Look, Nora, I'm being honest here. She sprinted – _sprinted!_ – five klicks, from around the BEQ to the beach, then raced me on foot here, while I was redlining my _Firestorm_. Just over ten kilometers, sprinting, Nora._" Sera shook her head, "_I would have called bullshit too if I wasn't right beside her for the second part._"

"_That's inhuman,_" the younger Polyansky muttered, noticing the wince from her sister. "_What?_"

Sera made a warding motion with her hands. "_Don't say that to Ranma. I did, and she got really mad. Apparently, she takes a lot of pride in her conditioning and ability._"

With a hum, Nora considered that. "_Suppose if she was capable of such things, it would make sense. And wait, _she_? I thought..._"

"_Nora, I'm not kidding here. Hell, there's probably some surveillance of it that'll hit the dining halls later. And yes, _she_. Well, at the moment. Hell, I call it like I see it._"

In the way siblings do so, Nora knew when Sera was lying. This wasn't one of those times. "_God, you're not kidding. That's... wait. Why did Saotome bring him... her, oh damn it whatever! Why here, then?_"

Sera stomped her foot angrily. "_C'mon, Nora! This is easy! What possible use could Ataria Base have for someone with that kind of ability? Without military training?_"

Nora's eye grew wide in realization, "_Test pilot!? You're kidding, right?_"

–

The peaceful blue above was torn apart in a roar and scream of metal, defying the call of gravity and logic as a formation of fighter planes broke apart. Pairs of planes rolled and climbed, then blazed forward performing maneuvers impossible for conventional aircraft.

All the while, Ranma lay on her back, blue on blue of the sky reflected in her eyes.

"That... looks like fun..."

–

"This... is your idea of fun?"

Sera pouted cutely. "What, have you never done Karaoke before? I thought you were Japanese!"

Ranma growled, shooting the woman a look that could peel paint, before noting her grin. "Oh fine. Yes, I've done Karaoke. Just not in this form, alright?" Sulking, the now-male Ranma settled back into the padded bench seating of the enlisted dining hall. A far cry from the officer's variety, the 'common soldier's' cafeteria was a homier place, and the people there seemed to be a bit friendlier, if also noisier.

Part of that had to do with what was apparently the newest craze on the island, since someone footed the cost for a party-style Karaoke machine. Now it seemed every five minutes, another uniformed figure would plug in a CD and start caterwauling to the amusement or horror of those present. "God, they should just play someone stepping on cats over the P.A.," Nora growled, downing her beer before slamming on the table with a heavy 'thunk'.

"Now, sister, be nice. Talent or not, all they want to do is unwind and take their minds off the hard reality around here," Sera soothed, calming Nora's annoyance. The younger Polyansky finally nodded, looking apologetic. "Besides, it's fun."

Sera turned to Ranma, who was doing his level best to push himself into the cushions of the bench. "And as for you... I know I saw you palm some CD's when we dropped you off to change earlier," the implacable young woman poked a finger in his direction. "So! No dodging! I wanna hear you sing, mister!"

Ranma looked rebellious for all of ten seconds, before Serafina turned the tables, ramping up her pout. "Oh fine, damn it. Fine." Standing, the young man grabbed the small pack he'd brought with him. "I'll just be a moment," he muttered, stomping off toward the cafeteria line. The Polyanskys watched confused, till the young man got a glass of ice water, before ducking around the small divider that shielded the restrooms from public view. A moment later, a petite redhead came back, and sat the glass in the waiting bins for dirty dishes, before walking back toward the restrooms.

"Sera, don't you think it a little odd that Ranma's so at ease with that?"

The other young woman just shrugged. "I have no idea. I can't even really imagine it, so trying to place myself in such a situation doesn't work so well." Serafina paused a moment, before shaking her head. "Though, I don't know if I'd say Ranma was at ease with the curse, or whatever it is. He – or, rather she at the moment – seems to still be adjusting to it, if I'm not mistaken."

Nora regarded her sister critically. "Still? I suppose you'd know, being the one trained to analyze people. But didn't she say that it had been two years since she got the... curse?"

Sera shrugged, taking a long drink of her beer. "I believe so. But her history isn't something we know. And this isn't a small issue – a lot of a person's self-worth, goals, habits, even identity are wound up in their gender.

"Imagine if Ranma grew up in an environment with very traditional morals. The shift would be considered perverse, and the female body – when she had it – something to be considered unsightly and unclean, in the natural order. Not saying that's the general view, just likely considering the source and what Ranma was born as. Also, that's by our thinking, from where we grew up. Don't know how that kind of conservative thinking works in Japan, but you just know that kind of upbringing would massively affect how Ranma viewed himself, when it was _herself_ instead."

The elder sister paused, shaking her head. "On the other side of the spectrum, consider a very liberal home. They would, alternately, push Ranma to embrace all aspects of that new form, and accept it openly. Now if Ranma had a typical childhood, with the usual influences, that would go against his own gender-identity at least in terms of sexuality."

Nora winced. "Just no way to win, huh? The conservative side would make him out to be some kind of inhuman thing, while the liberal side would tear up his identity." Tapping her chin in thought, the younger Polyansky shook her head. "I don't see the Ranma we know being the result of either of those, though."

Serafina nodded sadly. "Not likely, no. Such clear-cut families are rare. Considering Ranma's adjustment and acceptance – if grudging – of the curse, she had a little of both, but no real time to do much of her own adjusting and thinking on it." Grumbling to herself, she continued, "more often than not, families do less supporting than we think they do. Expectations make parents try and shape their children, rather than let them make their own decisions."

"Now is not the time, Serafina..." the other young woman warned, getting a terse nod in reply. "Besides, cheer up. It looks like our little redheaded dynamo is ready to do her number."

Just as Nora had said, Ranma was up at the 'stage', which was more of a cleared out area at the center of the dining hall. Apparently the bag she was still carrying had a change or two of clothes in it, as she was now wearing a burgundy knee-length sundress with a brief matching jacket over it. The effect was feminine, if somewhat more formal than the atmosphere dictated.

As seemed to be customary with some of those that stood up, Ranma had a few words to say about her chosen song. However, seeing a petite redheaded bombshell before them in a dress, a few of those present voiced their enthused approval. "Alright, um... well hi," she began lamely, to the laughter of those gathered. Her cheeks pinked slightly, in response. "My name's Ranma. I'll probably be seein' you all a little more often, if my enlistment goes through," there were some cheers and catcalls at that, and it was the redhead's turn to laugh, a rich and warm sound.

"Alright, enough of that," she declared, as the room quieted. "This is a song I sang to someone I spent nearly two years with, before I came to Ataria. I got no shame in sayin' this is the only song I've ever sung in public," Ranma pointed out, to a spattering of chuckles. "Ok, ok. Enough stallin'. This is 'Just be Friends', from Dixie Flatline." As she finished her introduction, the music began, setting up a jaunty tune with a very definite beat more suited for dancing.

Sera and Nora both stared in frank bemusement as the petite redhead spun in place, her dress flaring slightly, before she tucked the microphone up to her lips and began the song with a strong, clear voice. A sway in her hips, Ranma stepped with the beat on the small cleared area that made up her stage, for the moment every bit the idol singer.

_Just be friends  
All we gotta do is  
Just be friends  
It's time to say goodbye  
Just be friends  
All we gotta do is  
Just be friends, just be friends..._

Nora reached over and pushed her sister's jaw up, where it had gone slack. "You were saying something about adapting?"

Blinking rapidly, Serafina shook off her momentary shock. "I... maybe it's a case of denial. Protesting too much." Ranma's voice pealed around the room, and the elder sister took in the way Ranma played to the crowd. A mostly _male_ crowd. "...or I could be completely fucking wrong." The lavender-haired woman threw up her hands. "You know what? I have no idea."

Beer in hand, Nora just nodded, enjoying the show with a slight smile, as Ranma opened up with the body of the song.

_I knew it at the bottom of my heart,  
the hardest choice would be the best.  
Mistakes we made that stayed with us,  
and in the dark took away the rest._

_Just be friends..._

_I remember the time back when we first met,_  
_You offered me a hand, then your smile._  
_Now it's all we can do to just say hello,_  
_How could our love turn so hostile?_

_All we gotta do is..._

_Bringing up old issues is so easy for us to do,_  
_pointing fingers and always locking horns._  
_Fighting pointless battles with our words,_  
_while our hearts are full of thorns._

_Just be friends  
All we gotta do is  
Just be friends  
It's time to say goodbye  
Just be friends  
All we gotta do is  
Just be friends, just be friends..._

_It's raining in my head, I'm stunned, standing_  
_dead, my vision blurry from these tears._  
_I still love you, I don't wanna be apart from you,_  
_Goodbye is something I don't want to hear._

_Just be friends..._

_Just once, Just once, if I could have a wish,_  
_I'd endlessly relive those perfect days,_  
_before the love that held us came apart,_  
_I can't hold on to it, it's slipping away._

_All we gotta do is..._

_Despite my determination, the pain is still there,_  
_I hold it in, but my screams still come._  
_Nothing is left at the end of this chain,_  
_The bond between us has come undone._

_Just be friends..._

_Please don't say those words to me,_  
_goodbye, my sweetheart, farewell,_  
_we have to leave bravely,_  
_and it's all over..._

_Just be friends.  
All we gotta do is just be friends.  
It's time to say goodbye and just be friends.  
The one thing I can't do is just be friends, just be friends..._

Ranma finished strong, the arm not holding her mic stretched out to the crowd, as her words, though sad, carried a warm energy. As the last notes died off, the redhead sketched a bow, as the room exploded with applause. Blushing hotly, Ranma bowed again, before handing over the microphone and retrieving her CD from a babbling ensign.

Looking as if she'd rather curl up under the table, Ranma took her seat again, staring blankly ahead at the two women across from her. Finally, some focus returned to her eyes, as she seemed to shake off her thoughts. "Um. What?"

"You know," Nora pointed out, sliding the shaken redhead a beer, "I was planning on singing tonight. Remind me next time to go before you. No way in hell am I going to try and follow an act like that," she quipped, adding more fire to Ranma's blush.

Sera noted this, shaking her head. "Well, now I don't feel so bad about what I was planning for later."

Later, Ranma knew, probably had something to do with the rest of the evening she'd been invited to – though the sisters had done so with her as a male. Supposedly they were going to do some swimming and sunning on the beach, and though Ranma wasn't thrilled with the idea, she had planned to go female, to enjoy the sun and surf. Considering her time with Genma, taking time to just enjoy such a thing had been impossible, then if possible, more-so with her curse. With a creeping sense of dread, Ranma favored Serafina with a worried look, "And what's that?"

"Well you see... Nora here-"

"Hey! You can't pin this all on me! That loudmouth Focker just had to let his trap run."

Sera grit her teeth and counted to ten slowly in Russian. "Be that as it may, _Nora_ issued a challenge to Focker and Ivanov, two of the pilots she works with in testing. That would have been fine, but-"

"Sister dearest _here_," Nora interrupted, "pointed out you'd be with us at the beach. The boys assumed you were a girl, considering you got invited there by us, and so they got two more of the test pilots to make it a fours game."

Ranma looked back and forth between the two women, knowing she wasn't going to like the answer to her question. "Fours game of what?"

Nora and Sera looked at one another, then to the worried redhead fidgeting before them. As one they replied, "Beach volleyball."

The sound of Ranma's forehead cracking the marble tabletop was lost in the pealing laughter of the sisters Polyansky.

–

"You understand that I could vaporize you both where you stand, right? Well, maybe not, but it'd be a close thing!"

The two young women nodded, matching mischievous grins on their faces, not that the speaker could see them from inside the changing room.

"And that there's probably no one on this island that would believe that I was capable of doin' it... right?"

Nora and Sera shrugged, nearly in unison.

"Ancestors, how does this keep happenin' to me," the redhead muttered, before the door banged open, causing her to squeak in surprise. "Hey!"

Nora stood there, hands fisted on her hips. "Oh will you stop whining!" Eying the buxom redhead in her cutout black one-piece, the youngest sister's eye twitched. "God above, you've got the body of a model, and you're sulking about showing it off."

The suit in question was a form-hugging number in simple black, with a cutout that exposed Ranma's midriff, essentially mimicking a bikini with its style. The neckline dove low enough to expose a fetching amount of cleavage, without seeming too showy, and the lower half did the same, proudly showcasing a trim, flat, enviable stretch of skin from sternum to some small distance below Ranma's navel. Overall, it was more conservative than a bikini, but less modest than the typical one-piece. The difference was in the cuts and angles, that showcased the currently-woman's figure, to mouth-watering detail.

Ranma, despite knowing full well that yes – she did look damn good – was still hedging on actually leaving the impromptu changing room. Apparently, there was enough interest in the beach to cause those on Ataria to construct a small building to house such facilities, as well as some restrooms. To make sure she didn't need to deal with any bobbles in her curse, Ranma had used the ladle on herself, knowing well enough that the kettle she kept alongside it would counter the artifact's effects. There was nothing quite as frightening to the young woman, than the idea of being caught out in her male form, in an outfit like this.

Speaking of, "I don't want to show off," the redhead bit out, though her pride sang at Nora's compliment. "And I don't wanna get gawked at by that blonde jerk again. Ancestors, it was bad enough when I had real clothes on!"

"Come on, Ranma," Nora whined, her normally unflappable demeanor crumbling. "Focker's like that to everyone. Just ignore him, it's what Sera and I do."

"But I... that is..." sighing in defeat, Ranma pushed the stall door open the rest of the way. She was locked, on a beach, and in a swimsuit. The battle was already lost – only the war remained. And she'd be damned if any blonde smooth-talking, giggilo was going to score a final victory over Ranma Saotome!

The redhead winced as her mind replayed that thought in a most unsavory manner.

"Alright!" She declared, punching a her right hand into her left palm with determination. "Lets get out there and-"

"Sunbathing is soooo nice," the redhead almost purred, shifting slightly so that the glare from the sun on her closed eyes wasn't quite so dazzling. It was not something she advertised, but there were some things about being female that were just _better_. Ice cream. The feel of some clothes. Music. And sunbathing. To the languid redhead, it felt like she was simply drawing in happiness and contentment through her skin. She felt more than heard or saw the other two women to her left, indulging in the same activity after their first game – such as it was. Ranma found it amusing to think of sunbathing as any kind of 'active' anything, or that volleyball match as anything but fair.

Sera and Nora were her company in baking slowly, while some associate of Roy Focker's, Aries Turner, sat nearby tinkering on a laptop. The game had been pretty one-sided, once the two teams analyzed each other's strengths and weaknesses. Ranma had moved to back up Aries, while the boy's bravado kept them from doing the same with Lang. It was really quite sad.

Ranma's goading probably didn't help much, but she figured what the hell – Anything Goes, right? Works for volleyball too.

"So you'll be starting with your training soon?"

The redhead turned to face the speaker, noting Aries peering at her intently. Flipping her sunglasses up to her bangs, Ranma stretched. "Yeah, should actually be in tomorrow for the initial stuff. Shouldn't be a big deal."

Aries failed to hide her smirk. "Oh, I think you'll be unpleasantly surprised. The G-force tests alone usually leave most in bed for a few days after."

"G-force? Isn't that an anime?"

The scientist's eye ticked slightly. "No. Yes, I mean it doesn't matter!" The dyed blonde took a stilling breath, while Ranma smirked from her towel. "G-forces, as in pressure based on acceleration against gravity. You're experiencing one 'gee' right now, being at rest, in Earth-standard gravity."

"Oh damn it, she got her started," Nora complained, pulling out a headset that got slapped away by her sister. "Oh come on..."

Serafina smirked, turning her attention to the conversation. "I don't know, I think Ranma will surprise you."

Aries snorted in an unladylike way. "I don't surprise easy."

"She is a pragmatic one," Roy pointed out, draping an arm across the woman's shoulders, the hand there straying while holding a cold beer. Aries shrieked as the cold can slipped across her breast, upsetting her laptop with her flailing. "High strung too," he noted with a wide grin, as he kept the woman from spilling her work into the sand.

"You jerk," she half-heartedly complained, rolling her eyes behind her glasses. The two blondes settled, while Ranma observed the interaction closely. "Anyway. Roy and DD are sort of our control group for test pilots. We put them in just about everything, to see how things work out. DD's got more experience, but Roy's something of a prodigy."

Ranma nodded slowly, sitting up and rifling through her pack. Pulling out a pair of shorts and a tee, she slipped the shorts on to a few curious glances. "Gonna work on my katas a bit. I don't like being idle, as nice as this is."

"You're supposed to be here relaxing," Serafina pointed out, trying to pull the tee back off Ranma's head as she was trying to settle it. "You know, having fun? That thing you do when you're not working?"

"Hey, I like training fine," Ranma countered, though there was a ring of uncertainty to her voice. "'sides, I don't know a whole lot else."

Considering the problem a minute, Sera smiled brightly. "Then let's go swimming!"

Ranma bit her lip, but nodded. "Alright. In a few minutes, though. I really wanna work off some energy first."

Sera pouted but agreed, quietly curious what Ranma would be doing despite her arguments. "Well, since you're going to practice anyway... why not show off some? Show us what you can do!"

"Uh, I don't know if that's a great idea..."

"Oh come on," Nora teased, "Sera here was gushing about how you damn nearly outran her bike, and I've seen how you move. You're walking art. So, show off a little. We're all jocks of one sort or another here, and that comes with some degree of showmanship."

She really needed to work on her pout resistance, Ranma noted to herself. "Fine, fine. But I'm not answerin' any questions about what I can do, today. That's my condition." Aries looked rebellious, as did Lang on the guy's side, but no one countered her.

"The Saotome School," Ranma explained as she stood and found a decently rocky patch of ground, "is mostly aerial. I've been training a long time, so... this may be a little different from what you're used to."

"I'm sure we've seen..." Roy trailed off, his cocky tone faltering as the tiny, buxom redhead jumped thirty feet straight up, before spinning and tumbling into an airborne display of whirling, twisting, tumbling strikes that left a small flurry of wind constantly moving around her.

As she neared the ground, Ranma tucked into a ball, striking the ground with a fierce downward kick that sent her up and at an angle toward a nearby cliff face. As she approached, she spun in place, shadow-boxing an invisible opponent at her back, before returning her attention to a wall that was closing fast. Landing with one foot outstretched, she softened her landing, before striking the stone with a single finger. "Ha!" Kicking up and away with her foot, the redhead ended up above the explosion of scree and debris that blasted free of the cliff face, leaving a crater in its place. Her arms and legs became a blur, as she snatched stones from the air, throwing them against the still blossoming explosion she'd caused. Those stones struck back with tiny, crackling booms as they broke the sound barrier, cracking and changing the trajectories of other stones so that what looked like the beginnings of a deadly landslide never touched those watching with wide eyes.

Serafina gaped. "H-How is she still airborne?"

"She's using momentum from her attacks against gravity," Aries hypothesized. "But to have such a grasp of those mechanics... insane."

Finding herself at the apex of her hang-time, Ranma took another brief moment to attack and defend from an unseen foe, the snap of cloth as she moved crisp and clear in the air. As she fell, the redhead spun and twisted her hands from the hip, her palms joined as she thrust forward at the rocky bluff. "_Mōko Takabisha!_"

A searing bright gold burst of light cracked the overhang where the crater she caused stood out, loosening a truly massive slab of stone. Adjusting her fall, Ranma moved so that she was diving at the ground, before crossing her arms before her with a shout of "_Kijin Raishū Dan!_"

Air distorted before her and jaws dropped as the redhead accelerated on the slipstream of her own vacuum blades, landing with a cratering crack into the shattered ground below. Immediately she was airborne again like a missile, bringing attention back to the automobile sized boulder that was beginning to fall. Expertly judging her 'opponent', Ranma braced between the falling weight and the cliff face, roaring in effort as she planted her feet in the stone to send it up and away from its fall... and over the small camp of observers.

The women screamed and the men stared, while Ranma repeated her massive dive, launching herself back up at the boulder, juggling it as she altered its path and shape with precise strikes and massive impacts. Five times she struck the boulder hard enough to split massive portions of it free, and five times Ranma altered her fall or used a sweeping, retreating strike to increase her velocity and knock away that portion of abused material, so it never came close to those watching. Still, the massive bulk of the rock remained airborne. With a final slight kick to adjust the stone, Ranma sent another vacuum blade, shearing a smooth surface into the boulder, while attacking it with a blurring barrage of strikes.

Content with her work, the redhead launched herself at the ground for a final, sixth time, from beneath the tumbling stone with a cheerful "hup!". Landing to the side of one of the discarded larger stones she'd removed from the whole, Ranma snapped a kick at it, repositioning it. Crouching, she repeated the midair process, while shooting a glance above.

When the falling mass was two meters away, Ranma snatched it out of the air with a light hop, spinning it around horizontally to bleed off momentum, before she touched down lightly, settling the rock atop the other. Panting through her efforts, Ranma happily sank down into the sand with a wide smile. "So... martial arts masonry. We needed a table out here. Whaddya think?"

True to her word, the redhead's efforts had resulted in a wide, flat, rough-hewn stone table, big enough for a medium gathering, and sturdy enough for the kind of people likely to use it, from Ataria. The base was a large stone itself, wide enough to keep the top from wobbling, and massive enough to resist being moved easily. The top even seemed slightly polished down, but only enough to make it flat and even.

"Holy shit," Nora muttered, having long-since fallen out of her chair. Beside her, Sera succumbed to the mild shock by simply falling over, while Aries kept rubbing her eyes, looking between the now significantly reduced cliff face and the resulting table.

Smirking, if rather worn out, Ranma stood and wobbled. "Took a bit more out of me than I planned," she muttered, walking over to pick up the insensate Sera with a wicked grin. "So... Anyone else wanna go swimming?"

–

"So, looking forward to seeing how she does?"

"I'm looking forward to seeing what she _is_," Aries replied to Nora's question, earning her a sharp look from Sera who stood at one of the terminals, assessing the information it provided. "I'd have written the memory of that off, it she hadn't have left a quarter-ton reminder, sitting out in the middle of the beach!"

Serafina giggled, adjusting her instruments. "Somewhat hard to disbelieve in _rock solid_ proof, eh doctor?"

Aries shot her a dark look. "For someone else whose senses are grounded in science, you are remarkably accepting of what you saw."

"Hey, I got my proof as it happened. Ranma is interesting – I'm content to let her make as many tables as she likes, in the pursuit of her need to train," the lavender-haired woman pointed out with a laugh. "Besides, she's a great swimmer. I've not had that much fun in ages."

"Sorry, sis," Nora apologized half-heartedly, "I prefer flying."

Sera waved her sibling's apology off. "I'm not complaining. I'm just happy we got her out for a bit before all the tests. I get the feeling once she focuses on something, she'll resemble a pit bull."

"Tunnel vision?"

"More like laser-sharp intent," Sera replied to Aries' question.

—

AN: That was my re-edit of the Vocaloid song "Just be friends", which you would find to have different lyrics for the most part. I have about five other songs done for this.. which will NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. I made that mistake once before with Key - never again.

Not sure what happened to my motivation on this one, other than it just went away. Future plans for this one were going to involve the later plot that would become Macross Zero, proceeding as normal, with Ranma helping Nora deal with the fallout of… various things you can learn on a wiki. After that, he continues on as a Sukhoi test pilot, eventually becoming their 'ideal' for pilots, leading to, ultimately, the VF-27 'Lucifer' and Galaxy Frontier.

Juzo Saotome, would go on to be prominent through his descendants on the Macross Frontier, namely Alto.

The triangle I had built up for Ranma would have been Sheryl's mom, and Nora.


	11. Chapter 11

Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it _harsh_. So, be warned.

Premise: Old and tired; Ranma as Sailor Sun. Only this time, I didn't make her a Senshi, so much as a prototype upgrade to what they got 'right' in Hotaru. Starkiller Ranma, anyone?

—

**_Supernova._**

Part One: Phoenix Fire Evolution

_Fire_.

Everywhere he looked, something was burning. Some_ one_ was burning.

The Soul of Ice fell away, and Ranma drank in the heat, the burning rage Saffron had unleashed and thought he controlled. There was no real thought to the action that basically negated his best defense, no real reason, other than the surety that this time... this time he'd lost. Maybe not the war, but the battle had cost him the whole point of the convoluted mess he'd waded into. Those were Ranma's thoughts as the firestorm atop Jusendo paused in its wild dance, shuddered, then began to spiral inward.

In the middle of the vortex that had been supporting him amid the firestorm, Ranma floated across from the man-thing that had cost him so much. His father had been brainwashed by an equally mind-wiped Shampoo, and was down below in the near-literal volcano that Jusendo had become. With them, somewhere in the heart of that storm of punishing, fatal heat, were Mousse and Ryoga. Ranma supposed it was a small comfort that Ukyo and Konatsu were still back in Tokyo, but the cost of that small grace... was too high. Somewhere in that cyclone of searing hellfire, amid his desperate attacks with the Gekkaja, Akane had been ripped away from him. Despite all his efforts, all his skill, his desperation and snap-adaptation to Saffron's staggeringly powerful strikes and lethal techniques, he had given as good as he'd gotten, but it stopped meaning anything once he'd lost Akane to the blaze. Head bowed, arms out to the sides slightly, Ranma drifted in the blinding rage of the fiery cyclone he and Saffron had wrought in their battle. It was a pose of half supplication, half preparation.

Those few from Nerima who were able to do so looked on, pausing, feeling the tension and potential in the air ratchet up. It had felt oppressive and paralyzing before, but this... this was mind-crushing.

Magical fire, mundane fire, rage, the ki of battle... it all stormed inward, compressing, becoming super-dense as it wound and twisted against itself. Behind the strangely still and calm young martial artist in his smoldering clothes, the powers gathered and began to spin. A wheel of heat and fire began to coil around itself, while two wings of pure light stretched outward from the young man's shoulders. Across from him, a fledgeling godling raged, as every scrap of his power was sucked away into an implacable, seemingly bottomless vortex seemingly without effort or care.

It's said, in some schools of thought, that loss is the most selfish of emotions. One turns their inner eye wholly away from the world, as all attention collapses inward. For Ranma, whose failure had burned to ash in his own hands only moments before, it didn't feel selfish. Confidence winked out as he realized, "I am not enough."

Two years of actually living. Two years of having a family, dysfunctional as it was, strained as it could be, were gone. All his hopes and dreams floating away like so much dust.

If that reference for loss could be applied to Ranma at that moment, he became the equivalent of a black hole.

And then, something long dormant, something that had no purpose in existing in this or nearly any time flashed into terrible life once more. A spark ignited, burning away the dim gossamer of a soul to leave something pure and crystalline behind. Hardened. Implacable. Ranma felt as if his heart had stopped... then started again, fueled with liquid fire and crushing pain. Words came, all but ripped from an echoing presence that slammed into his breaking sense of self.

"...Nova Flare..." change rippled through the figure floating before Saffron, despite the heat, despite the chaotic waters of Jusendo. Long-unused mana conduits snapped into place, as the figure raised_ her_ right hand, fingers splayed out before her. All the power within Jusendo whorled about behind her, yet she eclipsed it. A raging sun seemed to spin behind that figure, casting all her features into shadow – all but her eyes. Those regarded the Phoenix Lord with a cold calculation, burning as if they were windows into the maelstrom that shadow held in check at its back. There in the air before the terrible figure floated a suddenly present blade. It was simple and archaic of design, unremarkable except that it burned as bright as an angry star. Blade down, it seemed poised, ready to strike even without a hand to wield it.

Ranma had no such hesitation. One slender hand wrapped around the simple hilt, as if it were made for her and her alone. With a roaring scream, she threw the final safeguards that screamed for her to stop into the wind. "..._!_"

Her scream tore the heavens

_Fire_.

Her soul seemed to be made of liquid fire.

Luminous eyes focused on the one who had taken, and burned, and dared to step into her domain. The wheel of destruction turned once, while the two beings stared into each other's souls across the desolation they had wrought. Saffron babbled in incoherent fear at the thing quietly judging, and he knew damning him.

The shadow blinked once, slowly, before a hollow voice that echoed out of blaze it contained and compressed seemed to boom outward. "_**Event Horizon**__._"

Jusendo ceased to be, under the light of a second fierce, brief, all-consuming sun.

–

The most common of magical senses, Sailor Mercury described it once, resembled something akin to sitting in a still pool with a bunch of other people, and trying to feel the small ripples everyone made as they moved. When someone shifted, the ripples would spread, and if one concentrated and understood the subtleties they held, could be read.

In that regard, almost everyone around the world who had some semblance of ability to sense the magical currents felt the sudden impact of a Buick being dropped in their calm little swimming pool.

At T.A. Girls' Academy, Rei Hino seized up in her chair, staring forward blankly. Around her, schoolmates began to whisper and ask if she was alright, when a slight trickle of blood began to seep from her nose. Seizures briefly overtook the shrine maiden, before she fell forward insensate in her desk.

The other Guardian Senshi, in their civilian guises at Juuban Municipal High School, suddenly found themselves with massive headaches. Usagi Tsukino however, either because of her more sensitive nature and greater power potential, or because of the presence of the_ Ginzuishō_ within her, didn't feel the ripples, so much as heard the backlash echoing along the magical ether. Regadless, it still gave her one hell of a migraine.

Of the so-called Outer Senshi, only Setsuna Meiou truly understood the sudden pain that washed over them, though to Hotaru, there was a sense of... similarity.

Pluto's Guardian dropped the papers she was currently copying in the teacher's lounge at Juuban Municipal High School, staring blankly into nothing as a look of muted horror crept over her features. "..._no_. Not possible. Not possible!"

The administration would receive her resignation later that day, citing ongoing family emergency.

Far from Earth, the ripples were felt as well, and a long-sleeping presence came aware with a roar that made the surface of the sun ripple as if it were made of water.

—

Part Two: A Meeting of Minds

The emergency meeting of the Senshi called by both Pluto and Sailor Moon got a few of their number in trouble, as the use of any kind of telephone or pager was banned during the school day. Most took their reprimand in stride, or managed to lie convincingly enough to squeak by saying they were having a family emergency, and could they please make sure at the office before dashing away with haste.

Setsuna managed to get excuses written and registered for everyone attending Juuban Municipal High School, which left Rei, Usa, and Hotaru to fend for themselves. Having dealt with this sort of thing often, most teachers didn't bat an eye, once excuses were made and given. It was Juuban, after all, and one thing that the Minato-based city understood was emergencies.

In a show of precisely how serious things were, Setsuna herself collected Rei, after contacting her grandfather. The sight that met the remaining Senshi and Lunar Cats as they arrived was not one they'd expected. There on one of the couches in the semi-official 'Senshi Clubhouse' at Hikawa Shrine, Rei rested sleeping with her head on slightly humming Setsuna's lap, as the tall, dusky-skinned woman ran her fingers through the unconscious teen's hair.

"Oh god, is she alright?"

Pluto's Guardian looked up at a worried Usagi Tsukino, nodding with a finger to her lips. Her voice, though quiet, carried across the room easily. "She'll be fine. I'm sure you all felt that, earlier?" Seeing the out-of-uniform Senshi nod, the elder Guardian indicated her insensate charge. "Rei is more sensitive to those kinds of things than any of us, except perhaps you. She however lacks the buffer of the_ Ginzuishō_ to protect her, and there were... other issues.

"But come, sit. Make yourselves comfortable. This will take some time to explain."

Once the totality of their ranks, minus Mamoru Chiba who could not escape college abroad in time, had arrived and settled, Pluto began to explain what had happened. "What everyone felt earlier was a mana-tap engaging, and a Star Seed going active."

"A new Senshi?" Minako looked dubious, feeling justified in her suspicion. The Galaxia fiasco with all the new or fake Senshi left all those present a little wary of new additions to the ranks.

Setsuna hesitated, before nodding slowly. "...yes. Somewhat."

Makoto came into the room from the attached kitchenette, a frown on her face as she sat down two plates of snacks she'd quickly put together, knowing that the meeting would go smoother with some distractions. "Not to sound too negative, but why? I think we've got things covered." Nodding to Hotaru, the athletic girl continued, "We have more than enough power, and a final Ace in Saturn and Moon if we absolutely need it."

"And that, Makoto, is relevant," Setsuna agreed, before turning to her housemates. "Haruka, Michiru, Hotaru... did any of you retain memories of, or were involved in the Silence Project?"

Three heads shook, bemused, while Artemis seemed thoughtful by Minako's side. "I recall something... related. I wasn't cleared for data, but there was a lot of talk around the Palace. Rumor and speculation."

"What do you recall?"

The white Lunar Cat bowed his head, sorting his thoughts at Setsuna's prompting. "Not much. There was... ah. A battleship commissioned for near-star environments. Before the destruction of Nemesis, most of the Seralite ore for a decade had been funneled into its creation."

Michiru tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I recall that... mineral?" Seeing the Cat's nod, she continued, "Yes. I think Neptune had some small deposits. They weren't worth mining, however."

"Nemesis was the primary source," Artemis continued, his expression relaying a thoughtful frown. "Seralite is an energy-damping mineral, used in Seratic alloys. The only use for those was in..." the Cat's eyes narrowed to tiny slits, as fragmented memory resolved into coherence. "...no. It's not possible."

While Artemis mumbled denials to himself, ignoring the comfort Minako was trying to offer, Setsuna picked up the story. "Seratic alloys were used in ZPG bombs, as payload shields. Those weapons were part of the Imperial Armada's planet-killer armaments." Seeing the looks of shock around the room, the elder Senshi sighed. "None of you are ready for this, but we suddenly have no time to gently ease you into the knowledge or understanding needed.

"The Silver Millennium achieved the peace it did, in the same way any other culture did. We made war – terrible, unthinkable wars – on those that endangered our views. Serenity herself acted as Admiral for many of those battles, after her own mother's death in combat. It was by her decree alone that such weapons were used. And they were. Seventy-two times."

Usagi felt the world collapsing from beneath her, as a chill ran up her spine. "...my mother, Queen Serenity... destroyed entire_ worlds?_"

Setsuna heaved a weary sigh, her fingers stilling in Rei's hair. "Sometimes. When those governments threatened other worlds or solar systems, and there was no chance of peace. Some races among the stars have no concept of such things, after all," the elder Senshi explained. "There are some space-faring races out there that exist as nothing so much as planet-devouring locusts.

"Sometimes we would lose entire planets to things beyond this universe, to which a quick death was a mercy," Setsuna recalled with a shiver. "The Silver Millennium you all recall built its foundations on those wars. That peace was found from them."

"How does that relate to what we felt earlier, though?" Haruka asked, her foot bouncing nervously. She had fragmented memories regarding her previous incarnation's opinions of ZPG weapons, and it worried her. She knew she was more hot-tempered and prone to violence than many of the other Senshi, but that she felt a chill at considering those weapons made her very, very nervous.

Wringing her hands, Setsuna's lips pursed in thought. "Usa?"

Shaking her head, the wide-eyed child offered nothing.

"Damn it," the Guardian of Time muttered in resignation, before settling in to relay the Empires dirty secrets. She had hoped some of the security locks on the time-traveling youth's memories had been triggered. "It all ties together. But you need some background first, to put it in perspective."

"The Silence Project was one of two experimental research projects, and the only one accepted to go forward," Setsuna began. "The idea was to give control to the kind of that kind of destruction, that offered by the ZPGs and other massively dangerous weapons, to a human. To a Senshi, specifically, bound by the will and decree of the Queen, and loyal to the Empire. Obviously there was a lot of anxiety about the weapons used by the Empire in previous wars, and no one wanted that kind of destruction simply forgotten to be found and used accidentally, or purposefully later.

"A Senshi was the obvious choice, for such power. With a planetary mana-tap in place, they were reusable, efficient, and ultimately more humane, most figured.

"Most of the fleets and weapons were decommissioned, and the ships recycled into the biosphere engines for the many planets in this solar system," Setsuna continued, eyes distant in memory. "Oh, there were many ships that remained, and the Queens... ah,_ flagship_ was untouched. We may have wanted peace, but we were always prepared to defend it."

Offering Hotaru an apologetic glance, she went on. "The Silence Project resulted in the current powers of Saturn's Senshi. By utilizing the entropic principal, they isolated the keys for that immense power, and imprinted that onto an existing Star Seed. This came at a cost, as it destabilized the Seed, as entropy is essentially an uncontrollable force, but within limits, it can be directed."

Many eyes turned to one of their youngest, as Usa offered Hotaru her shoulder. The beleaguered Senshi took the offer, eyes distant. "...I was made to be a weapon?"

"You were given vast powers, but you were not simply a weapon," Setsuna asserted firmly. "There were concerns on your awakening, and there had been some worry about your Star Seed's cohesion and integrity. Those caused your last incarnation to be less than stable at times, and sadly, resulted in containment."

Usagi frowned severely. "Containment?"

"Hotaru's previous life was spent mostly in stasis," Setsuna explained, looking stricken. "It had to be. She wasn't healthy or stable enough to live a normal life.

"Which brings us to the Firebird Project, and why it was ultimately scrapped... or so we thought."

Curious glances were exchanged, while Rei stirred, offering Pluto a curious glance. "Why am I in your lap?"

"You were hit pretty hard by some spiritual backlash," the elder Senshi explained wryly. "And... well. It was comfortable for me too."

Smiling ruefully, Rei sat up and stretched. "You started without me?"

Setsuna nodded. "It's important. Try to follow along, but get Ami to give you the abridged version later. I'm only now getting to the important part, anyway."

Nodding, the shrine maiden sat but didn't move away. She was still shaken by what she'd felt earlier, and of them all, Setsuna was a solid, comforting presence. Something she needed, at that moment.

"Firebird," Pluto's Guardian began solemnly, "was the next step up from the Silence Project that resulted in the Saturn's power set. Scientists as usual wanted to make more efficient and destructive tools, and with the equivalent to ZPGs attained, they wanted to move on to the next step.

"Project Firebird was an attempt to bind a Senshi to a star, to give them the kind of power needed to destroy one."

A clatter from the table near Hotaru drew the shocked Senshi's attention, as Usa seemed to twitch violently for a moment, before slumping. Her spilled drink lay forgotten, as it dripped onto the floor. Shaking her head, the pink-haired girl took a few gasping breaths. "Sorry... sorry. Memories. Locked information catching up to the_ now_."

Setsuna leaned forward intently. "And?"

"She's awake," the girl sometimes referred to as Chibiusa muttered distantly. "The Starkiller is awake."

Falling backwards into the couch, Setsuna rubbed at her forehead with her palm. Locked memories of events meant that she or the Queen had done so. There could be any number of reasons for this, but the usual, most common one was distrust. The potential to reach out and tweak events slightly to prevent some horrible outcome was too tempting, she knew. Lacking the frame to put it into, such knowledge was useless. However, such surprises still rankled. "This is not good. Not at all."

Haruka looked around the room anxiously, her irritation with such meetings spiking. She was a person made to act, not sit and talk and plan. "Alright, so? Is she a homicidal maniac, a new enemy, or what?"

"Oh we don't want her as an enemy," Usa squeaked with a shiver. "But she's... not entirely stable. Not now, anyway."

"One of the problems with the initial project," Setsuna tiredly interjected before the chatter could begin, "was that no human, Senshi or otherwise, could think or hope to control a mana-tap to a star. There were hundreds of limiters put in place, to reduce the power conduit to a level a Senshi could control... but the system wasn't perfected. In fact, the only acceptable way to stabilize such a Star Seed was through rebirth."

Hotaru jumped a bit at that. "Is that why I've been feeling better? Why my memories say I should be... well worse, but I'm not?"

Pluto nodded once. "Each rebirth adds a layer of strength to your Star Seed, much the way a pearl forms. Experience and life harden them, in a way of thinking. You've been reborn twice now – once with the Fall, once from your fight with Tau Nebula. Your Seed is nearly flawless now, by my estimation.

"But, we didn't know that when Project Firebird was put in place. So, those limiters were built into a starship, which was built, housed, and provided a base for the future Senshi Solaris. The ship was fittingly named_ A Tragic Yet Beautiful End_, or the_ Beautiful End_ for short, as it was never officially launched, and the onboard AI was never named. It was also her weapon's platform," Time's Guardian explained distantly. "Then, once the miscalculations with Project Silence became apparent, the entire Firebird plan was scrapped. Too dangerous, too uncontrollable."

"So, why is she active, then?"

Setsuna considered Ami's question pensively. "The Firebird team were... extremists. The old war-hawks of the Empire. They had acquired enough funding to continue covertly from the_ Beautiful End_ itself, I think. I know the ship was completed, but the Star Seed research had time projections much more demanding. I don't know, really. Anything beyond the official material I was allowed is just rumor and speculation, at this point," the green-haired woman admitted. "My best guess at this point is that they completed the Star Seed and mana-tap, but never fully awakened Solaris. After the Fall, without resources to call on or ports to dock, the_ Beautiful End_ likely went derelict. Possibly the crew suicided to keep the Firebird project from falling into Beryl's hands, even," she admitted.

Minako shivered. "That's terrible."

"These people were part of the Empire's engine of war," Setsuna reminded them. "To them, the Empire came first – everything else, life, homes, family, were second."

Haruka grumbled. "I still don't see the problem. Hotaru's fine. Why won't this person be alright as well?"

Ami chimed in then, biting her lip in thought occasionally. "Those limiters, without servicing, they'd degrade. Especially without use. Not to mention the fact that the starship housing them could be utterly destroyed now, after ten millienia. For them to suddenly go active... how many are left functional? How many would just break?" The room went quiet at that. "Would the mana-tap simply overwhelm Solaris? Do we want to think about a Star Seed funneling a star's fury from the surface of Earth?"

The somber mood was broken by Setsuna once again. "Ami, see what the Mercury computer has to say about Solaris. Usagi and I can give clearance for any Firebird related data, and hopefully if the_ Beautiful End_ as well if it is still active, or capable of being reached."

Nodding, Mercury's Guardian went to work. As expected, Project Firebird had been locked, and did need confirmation from both the royal line and the acting Time Guardian to access. "Hmm. It looks like the data here matches what you'd explained. Firebird's Star Seed was bound to the mana-tap, but they were still looking for a suitable Senshi when the Fall hit."

"How could a Senshi that wasn't active then, become active now, though?" Usagi asked. "I thought only the current Senshi were moved forward."

Ami considered the question for a long moment, before speaking. "I think... for the most part, a Star Seed is eternal. We saw how the system worked with Galaxia. When any being with a Seed of any type dies, that core is pulled into subspace, then cycled to a new life-force. We perceived that as the Cauldron. Only the Star Seeds of Senshi have some controls put on them, seeking out worthy and compatible hosts."

"Simple, but close enough," Setsuna allowed, knowing more of the details that were irrelevant for the moment. "So, you're thinking the Seed, having been left alone long enough, started its own cycle of rebirth?"

"We can hope so," Ami offered with a tight smile. "At least that way the flaws would be stabilized somewhat." Resuming her typing, the young genius frowned. "On the_ Beautiful End_..." she shook her head for a moment. "There's an access delay for current data. The Lunar Relay is really active for some reason."

Setsuna considered that with a slight frown. "Sounds like it woke up."

"It is a 'smart ship', according to the data here," Ami explained. "The vessel has a potential crew berth of about thirty, but has one of the most advanced AI I've ever heard of, capable of functioning at full potential with just Solaris on board. Oh, and the structural notes are here... good god. The entire ship is made of Seratic alloys. What did they_ do_ with that thing?"

Moving from the couch, Setsuna guided Ami into coaxing more data from her computer, organizing it into a holographic display. "The_ Beautiful End_, as I said, was the weapon's platform for Solaris. The ship's design was made to compliment her powers, so it was necessary for it to also withstand them. The details of Firebird I may be lacking on, but this ship... it was a terrible wonder. It earned its name."

With a creeping dread, Michiru asked a question she'd set aside, that stuck with her from earlier. "What kind of payload did ZPG bombs contain?"

"Destabilized singularities," Setsuna replied quietly. "Miniature black holes."

Hotaru sat back, eyes wide. "And I thought my Glaive was overkill."

Setsuna chuckled darkly. "Yes. Solaris' projected abilities were not to be trifled with, nor was her ship's," she demonstrated, gesturing to the hologram of a long, black, dangerous looking vessel. The central body was narrow and sleek, and branched out into two sloping tines, much like a short tuning fork at the front. Halfway down the ship's upper hull, a pair of what looked like engines swept out and back, but they bore no familiar nozzles or vents. Below those nacells, as Setsuna called them, a pair of shortened wings swept, though they angled forward rather than back. They didn't look capable of flight, but Pluto reminded them that this was a ship made for space, not that it would matter. Below and behind them, another pair of engine pods swept back, totaling four. Despite the many visibly recognizable components, the ship had a nearly organic sleekness, like it was made for water more than space or atmosphere.

"The_ Beautiful End_ was designed to literally dive into stars," Pluto's Guardian explained, indicating the ship's structure. "It doesn't use conventional propulsion by either Imperial Spacy or current understanding. It can't, as such methods would ultimately fail in the heart of a star.

"Once in position," she continued, indicating Ami should begin a program attached to the ship's data file, "the ship would initiate deployment configuration." The hologram showed the ship changing, as the forward hull extensions moved together to form a single uniform surface, while the upper engine nacells shifted forward nearly to the bridge location. Once that had occurred, the ship literally broke in half, around a central, spherical object that blinked balefully within the display. "The_ Beautiful End_ in this configuration protects Solaris from the pressures within a star, while exposing it to her power."

The display zoomed out suddenly, though there was a window indicating the previous view. Suddenly, the Senshi were looking at a table-sized representation of an active star. Solar flares, sunspots, and corona arced and spotted its surface. Though muted in intensity, it was still bright and mesmerizing to those who had never seen such a thing before. The view was not to last. Within the window, the sphere cradled between the ship's two sections shrank suddenly, becoming eye-wateringly dark in contrast.

All activity shown on the star ceased, as it dimmed rapidly. Within the zoomed display, the_ Beautiful End_ tipped, so that it stood vertical to its previous orientation. The lower half inverted, as the engines split in half. Above, the process repeated, until it seemed like the sphere between them was held in a lose grip formed by the engines. The star itself seemed to be experiencing a shearing process, as various layers separated from one another, visible in differing grades of brightness. Explosions of frenzied activity from rapid changes in pressure within the solar body blasted the outer corona off, in an expanding wave of nuclear fire. Another window snapped into being, showing a further distant view, with the orbits of imagined planets outlined in glimmering lights. The first two inner orbits winked out, as the star's outer layer consumed them.

All eyes watched the death of the star, as it was drawn with startling rapidity inwards on itself, the nova-like explosions coming more rapidly. Those shockwaves reached the fourth of the nine orbits, and it too was erased from the display. Soon, pressure regulated and the star ceased its death-throes, as all that it had been shrank down to a blinding point, contained within the cradle of the_ Beautiful End_, whose talons opened menacingly to expose a roiling mass of contained fury that made up all but a fraction of the star's previous material, crushed under unimaginable forces.

Then, hell was unleashed.

A massive bowshock of power ripped out from that central point, expanding in a luminous torus that left behind eddies of star-stuff that resembled seafoam. Faster than any of the other explosions, it took only a fraction of a minute for this wave of condensed and focused destruction to reach the final orbit, annihilating it without pause.

The display zoomed again. A sphere of icy debris was displayed, around a dim and distant star. In fast forward, the process repeated. A few seconds later, that icy shell was split in half like an egg.

Again, more distant. Faster, the replay cycled. Now, the star seemed to barely be larger than any other in a familiar sky. The view was apparently from above, and as the massive detonation took place, the Senshi were shocked to see that the extent of the explosion reached from the pinprick of light to nearly the size of a golf ball.

Usagi was openly crying at the potential for destruction, while the other Senshi sat in various stages of shock and awe. "...why? Why was such a thing needed? How_ could_ it be?"

Back in her position beside Rei, Setsuna shook her head slowly. "War is awful, but consider the mindset at the time. The Empire had settled here, finding this solar system the most compatible. That was after nearly three centuries of interstellar war. Yes, everyone wanted peace. Yes, the Silver Millennium worked to ensure it. But in the process, we had made many enemies. Enemies as powerful as we were.

"They too had weapons like Solaris," Setsuna allowed finally, dropping the final shoe. "A star is a delicate engine. They fail so easily, if attacked properly. Solaris was our assurance that if any attacked the place we called home, that they too would fall. Or, that we annihilated them before they struck at our homes."

"Mutually assured destruction," Makoto added in a haunted voice. "Funny. It was bad enough when we talked about nuclear weapons in history class. This... this is just unreal."

Ami chimed in, as the hologram showed the ship's evolution reversing around that terrible sphere. "Ok, the Lunar Relay has caught up with the incoming data. It started getting inbound transmissions from the ship half an hour ago, with a variance of around eight minutes. Standard non-emergency but high-priority channels." She looked up, visibly worried. "It took the same clearance that Usagi and Setsuna gave me to even decrypt it."

Striking a few more keys, Ami patched into the repeating signal. A symbol with Lunarian glyphs surrounded it, depicting a shield or sun disc, with a black sword crossed vertically before it spun lazily as playback began. "...erial COV, Assassin Class, designation_ A Tragic Yet Beautiful End_, requesting medical docking privileges and a refurbishing berth. Priority passenger designation Firebird onboard. No other crew," a dulcet female soprano announced through the computer's speakers. "Repeat. Hailing all Silver Empire stations, carriers, motherships, flagships. This is the Imperial COV, Assassin Class, designation_ A Tragic Yet_..."

Standing, Pluto's Guardian spared the collected off-duty Senshi a slight smile. "I'll go begin the Luna Darkside Station's docking cycle. You all can..." She trailed off, as everyone stood, faces resolute. "...come along as well, if you like?"

"Like we'd miss it," Haruka chimed in, throwing an arm around her adopted daughter and lover.

Usagi moved to give her future-daughter a hug, as the talked quietly in whispers. The other Senshi gravitated together as well.

Nodding, Setsuna was glad of the support. Even after so many thousands of years, the ghosts of the Fall still bothered her, when visiting points from their history. Having the Senshi with her would ease that, she knew.

Giving her pink-haired daughter a final hug, Usagi grimly faced her soldiers. "Alright. Lets get going."

–

Ranma woke, and immediately wished she hadn't. Pain seemed to be the totality of her world, as pins and needles alternated with fire and biting cold, with each beat of her heart. Despite her efforts, a weak whimper escaped her lips.

"..." a dulcet voice addressed her, in a language she didn't understand. Gathering herself, the redheaded aquatranssexual took a bracing breath, that felt far too hard to draw in. "What? Who is that?"

While she waited for an answer, Ranma tried to open her eyes, only to blink at the sudden sting of liquid, and the awareness she was submerged in some kind of fluid. Panicking, she strained against the restraints that held her, as the voice babbled on, in a tone she supposed was meant to be soothing.

All it did was fan the flames burning through her, however. "Let me out of this," she tried to scream, only now realizing that she was talking through the thick muck she was in, and had been breathing it the entire time. Desperate, she tried to focus her ki, drawing it up and into her arms, only to scream as the fires in her veins ignited with new fury. Slumping, she panted, hating the feel of something so substantial in her lungs, how it slid down her throat and through her nose. Shuddering, Ranma focused on anything else, even preferring to open her eyes again.

The world was tinted blue, distorted by a rounded glassy wall before her. Beyond it she could see a room that looked vaguely medical, reminiscent of the few times she'd been to a hospital or Dr. Tofu's clinic. It was lit dimly, and she couldn't make out details at all. Gathering her strength against the pain again, she tried addressing her unseen captors once more, "Who's there? Lemme out of this thing!"

There was a spattering of high speed babble once more, before it slowed, "...command interface request. Language selection: Sol:Terra:Asia:Japan. Is this selection acceptable?"

Ranma boggled for a moment, before replying, "Uh, yeah. Japanese is fine."

"Operator designation Solaris, language selection accepted," the female voice sounded pleased. "Warning," it began in a more uncertain tone, "Post emergency evacuation, your medical status demanded immediate suspension in a rejuvenation matrix. Please do not struggle, as this may aggravate your wounds."

The redhead followed most of what was said, and could infer the rest, though the headache that she'd had since waking was really scrambling her brain. "I was hurt."

"Affirmative, Operator Solaris."

"Um, who are you talking to? My name's Ranma. Ranma Saotome."

There was a pause, while she assumed the voice was thinking. Where was the person speaking? She didn't see anyone in the room... "Query, Operator Solaris – do you wish to be referred to as Ranma Saotome while in a nascent state?"

Ranma wished she could move her hands, so she could rub at her aching head. "What do mean, nascent?"

"Unpowered, deactivated, at rest. Currently, access to your mana-tap is operating at minimum. This state would qualify."

Resisting the urge to sigh, Ranma voiced her partial understanding, ignoring that she had no idea what the hell a mana-tap was. It would seem she'd gotten herself into another stupid situation that would probably require her doing something embarrassing. Waking up female certainly pointed that direction. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Uh, when would I be called Solaris then?"

"Solaris designation is currently set to five percent conduit utilization and above, the minimum to activate passive defensive armor."

Letting her head rest back against the odd brace behind it, Ranma closed her eyes. "...alright, whatever. Not like I have any idea what you're talking about anyway. Armor? Conduit?"

There was a brief pause. "Operator Ranma Saotome is cleared for all Project Firebird data, errata, and available logs, archives, and status reports. Would Operator Ranma Saotome desire a status summary?"

Gritting her teeth at the strange situation she was stuck in, Ranma could only lay where she was and fume. "Uh, maybe later. And just call me by... designation, or whatever. No need to call me Operator this or that every time. In fact, lets just stick with Ranma. Who are you?"

"Current designation for shipboard AI is identical to said ship's callsign, or the more manageable,_ Beautiful End_. Current command interface invocation methods include – computer, AI,_ Beautiful End_, ship-"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Ranma muttered, closing her eyes. "You're the brain of this ship, you said. Not that I've heard of anything like that before outside of anime, but alright. But don't you have a_ name?_ Like a real name?"

The ship's AI paused, before it voiced a negative. "Current invocation methods have been sufficient. No secondary callsign has been assigned. Would you like to add a secondary callsign or invocation?"

"God, thing reminds me of Gosunkugi talking about invoking this and that," the redhead muttered, before shaking her head. "Nah, not yet. I don't even know what you look like. Kind of hard to come up with a name, without that, I guess."

"Current command invocation can assume a hard-light or holographic interface assistant method. Would this be acceptable?"

Ranma was beginning to wonder if she'd need a manual just to get straight answers from the thing talking with her. "Yeah, sure."

Just inside the glass tube's wall, a hazy representation of a woman sprang into being, ethereal and blue like the odd fluid she was suspended in. She had a Hime haircut, with bangs, the sides kept just short of her shoulders, and with the back long and flowing. Around her shoulders she wore a draping robe that folded to one side, fastening to the opposite shoulder, before draping with a flourish. It had an oddly formal-military feel, despite being the sort of thing Ranma would expect to see at a ballroom dance. Under the robe she could tell the figure was lithe, slim, and understated in proportions.

Despite her unique appearance, Ranma was most interested in her eyes. A darker blue than the rest of the projection, they flickered with odd symbols constantly, almost fast enough to resemble static.

Ranma was startled out of her inspection by the odd image speaking. "Is current visual representation acceptable?"

"Uh," Ranma murmured, resisting the urge to shrug, due to her restraints. "I guess?"

The image blinked, tilting its head to the side slightly. "Clarification – current command interface would be most agreeable to being regarded in a familiar fashion, to facilitate better and more fluid communication with its primary Operator. Ship designation_ Beautiful End_ is classified as an infiltration and strategic assault vessel. May the command interface access current gross-network radio congestion to better acquire a suitable visual avatar?"

Closing her eyes tight, Ranma growled. "Smaller words, please. I'm not dumb, but you're going over my head in places. I'm a martial artist, not a scientist." Though, the note about the ship's purpose got her attention. Ranma found the idea that she was on a warship of some sort interesting.

"Apologies," the image did a strange tilting bow. "The ship's AI requests permission to access the global networks for a more appropriate form of dress and appearance, matching the ship's commissioned purpose. It is the AI's hope this would ease interface-user interaction."

"Sure, and while you're at it, learn to talk normal," Ranma groused, eye twitching slightly.

The image blinked at her, then faded from view. "Affirmative, Operator. Visual interface suspended while data analysis proceeds."

With the loss of something outside of her blue prison to look at, Ranma felt suddenly claustrophobic. "Hey, can I get out of here?"

"Apologies. Ship AI's priority is to the current Operator's health. Acceptable level of rejuvenation will be achieved in approximately one hour. Optimal levels would be achieved in three."

Sighing within the blue muck, Ranma figured it could be worse. She could be laid up for a week in the blue stuff. Trying to calm and relax, she thought back on how she got... wherever she happened to be. Annoyingly, the memories were hazy, hard to grasp. "I remember Jusendo... fighting with Saffron. Then Aka... ne... oh." Akane was gone, Ranma realized with a painful wrench in her chest.

Saffron had burned her dehydrated form to ash, and at the time, there was nothing she could have done to stop it. The Phoenix Pill made her nearly invulnerable to heat, and it simply hadn't registered to Ranma at the time how hot it had been. It wasn't until her clothes began to flare up without the touch of fire that she'd realized how bad things had gotten. By then, it was too late for the Soul of Ice to help.

"There was so much fire," the redhead murmured, her mind's eye swimming in remembered flames. "He didn't care what burned. Everything, even his own people..." Ranma recalled how the people who'd followed from Nerima had finally had to flee, as things became so hot that the air randomly ignited. She remembered the cyclone of fire and wind that had cracked open a mountain like a boiled egg, scattering everything on it across the valley in a flow of molten rock and burning hell. Remembered seeing her friends and family fleeing into that mountain, moments before the combined power of her and Saffron's attacks tore it apart from within.

She recalled feeling like there just wasn't a point, or anything she could do, then. Something had changed with the Soul of Ice, and rather than repelling heat, she seemed to draw it in. No, it wasn't the Soul of Ice... it was_ her_ that had changed. Something about all the magic, the fire surrounding her on all sides, the pressure and the strange eye of calm around her has sparked... not memory. Instinct. Then, it was like someone had pushed a technique into her head, she knew how to do something that would permanently stop the Phoenix Lord from ever hurting anyone again.

The memories were hazy, though. She recalled... drawing in the heat. Like she was some kind of vacuum for power, a forever-spinning core to a_ Hiryū Shōten Ha_. It was strange and familiar and just_ right_, Ranma felt.

With a jolt, she recalled how the ki felt as it burned through her, filling her up so much that it blazed out behind her. It was like she was made of the stuff. Shivering, Ranma tried to remember if there'd ever been a time she had so much power before, or even felt something that powerful. She wasn't surprised to draw a blank. "What the hell's happening to me..." she muttered quietly, trying to recall what had happened after she'd began stripping power off Saffron faster than his supposedly immortal body could produce it.

Her mind's eye pictured a sword, and some words she felt the itch to speak, but refused. Then... "...felt like I packed it all into a little ball, like an egg, then cracked the shell."

From that point forward, however, her memory was foggy. Just images of mountains going molten, distant trees flaring up like matches, the air burning white and angry for a split second, before the sound hit, and then everything shook. The sound alone had stripped trees bare, those that hadn't been immolated, and cracked boulders near the epicenter. The wash of force after hadn't broken the land, but had annihilated it in an expanding wake of destruction. "Like a... a bomb went off," she noted distantly, horrified to her core.

Shaking off the memories, Ranma tried to feel something, to dig past the numbness that wouldn't seem to leave her, but it was a futile effort. She knew, intellectually, the symptoms of emotional shock, but it was just so strange to be on the inside looking out.

"Ranma?"

She looked up at the familiar voice and more informal address. "Yeah?"

An image winked back into view, and despite her mental fugue, it made her smile ruefully. "After some research, cross-referencing, and analysis on current culture trends in fiction versus historic references, I have decided on this, for an avatar," the ship's AI declared, while Ranma took in the new view.

The haircut was the same, as was the face, but there the similarities ended. Instead of a strange foreign robe, the AI was wearing a kimono that seemed a few sizes too small. Opened to show off an impressive swell of breast – also new, she noted – the dark blue garment had long sleeves with a gap open at the shoulders, that trailed below the image's hands. Belted snugly, the flare of the material over the display's hips was very indicative of a firm and shapely rear, while the hem seemed cut far, far too high. Miniskirt high, Ranma noted.

It was probably the most indecent thing she'd ever seen with full coverage.

She'd have to ask the ship where to find one. "I like it," she offered finally, realizing she was nearly drooling into the blue goop she was floating in. "Now we just need to get you a name."

"With a new avatar image, that would be pleasant," the AI agreed. "This ensemble was based off a fictional ninja named Kurenai. As my current projection filters are all blue, rather than red that seems... unacceptable."

"Rissei," Ranma offered, after a moment's thought. "That or Sora."

The avatar seemed to consider those choices a moment, before nodding. "Rissei then. Rising blue."

Ranma smiled, her pains mostly eased at this point, "Nice to meet you, Rissei."

Bowing deeply, the new-named ship's AI gave her Operator a wide smile. "You as well, Ranma. However, I must warn you... protocol during operations demands appropriate address."

"Oh, I know I'm not gonna like this..."

"...therefore, during those periods, and especially when there are others aboard, I shall refer to you either as Operator, or Master."

Ranma could have sworn she saw a glint of mischief in the image's eyes, but couldn't be sure. Instead of a verbal counter, she just grumbled for a minute about upstart computers. This thing was reminding her way too much of Konatsu. Chuckling, the redhead smiled wanly. "Eh, well, whatever makes you happy, I guess. Good job, and I like how I can understand you now. Well, so far."

"I'll try to keep the jargon to a minimum," the scantily clad avatar offered with a grin, something else new. "Much has changed since I was last activated, though the quality of entertainment – this television – is still rather low."

"Commercials?"

"The bane of my subprocessor," the AI declared. "However, there is some good news.

"After I transported you to medical, I began an all-frequency distress signal, hoping to contact some help, and also dock for repairs. Luna Darkside Spaceport just opened a carrier signal, and we are under way to land."

Ranma put that together, and blanched. "Wait, you mean we're in_ space?_"

Nodding, the avatar opened a display, representing the solar system. "Current achievable speed will have us arriving in twenty-seven minutes."

Inspecting the window, the redhead puzzled over something that didn't make sense. "Um, why is that line that's got the arrow going to the moon, starting in the sun?"

"Oh, that's because the_ Beautiful End_ has been 'soft docked' inside the sun's gravity well for the last ten-thousand years." Stretching, the image bounced, doing interesting things to its simulated physiology. "And it's great to finally move around again!"

"Parked in the sun," Ranma muttered, the reality she was on a space ship, talking to a computer, that was recently parked in the sun, and that would soon be docking on the moon finally hit her, and she agreeably decided it was nap time.

–

The Senshi arrived after some small time at the long-deserted Luna Darkside Spaceport, having taken their time to explore their surroundings as they traveled. While they oriented, Pluto excused herself briefly, returning after only a few minutes. "Had to set up the carrier signal," she explained shortly as they walked.

"Why don't we teleport like that more often?" Makoto asked, finding Pluto's methods much preferable to the group teleport the Senshi often resorted to.

Though she hid it well, Setsuna was very worn from that very action. "Mostly, because it is very draining. I can use my portals almost effortlessly, but to extend my time-slip field to cover a group our size makes me feel like I've been going toe-to-toe with Godzilla," the green-haired woman replied. "Though, I think we may be needing to adjust some of your power-throttles soon. Letting each of you teleport as individuals would be helpful."

Latching on to part of Pluto's explanation, Haruka balked, "Wait, our powers have been throttled? Since when?"

"Since your planetary taps have all been strained nearly to breaking, because those planets don't bear life anymore," Pluto replied, as the collective Senshi winced. "Though the mana-taps are still very functional, they do require some kind of energy to convert. Currently, most of that is geo-solar, and terribly inefficient.

"There is also the_ Ginzuishō_ to take into consideration," she murmured almost hesitantly. "I'm fairly sure that any of you who were reincarnated have your planetary taps routed through it. It would make sense, as it carried Serenity's will, and with very little error, managed to have you all incarnated with your Star Seeds within years of one another."

Sailor Moon didn't like the possibility that one of her weapons could also hurt her friends, if it was damaged. "So that's why you caution me about using it too much."

"Correct," Pluto replied. "It is also a manifestation of your own Star Seed. If it is destroyed, you will die. They will, likely, as well," she indicated the Senshi with a hand. "Until such time as the planetary conversion engines are restarted, it is best to not rely on the _Ginzuishō_ any more than you absolutely have to."

"No wonder I hate that thing," Mars muttered, eying Sailor Moon's scepter critically.

The blonde in question laughed hesitantly, "Well, I'll uh, take better care of it, for sure."

Pluto smiled thinly at that assurance. She was mostly theorizing about the Silver Crystal, but then, too many things didn't add up unless the thing itself was bound to the other Senshi somehow. It also explained how so many dead planets could support the assorted Senshi, and their powers. It was one of those things she really wished Serenity had spoken with her about.

Her other suspicion she did not voice. Hopefully, if Senshi Solaris was actually active – and sane – they could kill a few birds with one stone, soon.

Mercury checked her ever-present computer against the floor plan, and the offered signs in dusty Lunarian. "We should be in the spaceport now. The_ Beautiful End_ has been docked for a few minutes, as well."

Taking that as a cue, Hotaru and Usa started searching for viewports. "Oh wow," Saturn chimed, standing by a window that the others had missed due to the fall of dust that coated them from the outside. This one had cleared recently, by all appearances, and offered a clear view of the docking area they would soon be arriving at. "Look at it, its so pretty."

The Senshi crowded the window then, each vying for a good look. Outside, the far side of the moon spread out in its heavily cratered glory, beyond the protective field of the station. That wasn't what drew their eyes, however. Docked yet hovering lightly where it rested with no apparent landing gear or support, the_ Beautiful End_ rested like an idle bird of prey. "That thing is sinister looking," Neptune commented, getting a few nods.

"Well, it is a warship," Venus countered. "I imagine they're supposed to look intimidating. Though, why is it all black?"

"I can imagine a number of reasons," Mercury replied. "It makes it harder to see in space, as it doesn't reflect light. Notice the matte finish. Probably has some sensory ablative coating as well, to make it hard to detect. Then of course there's the fact Seratic alloys are almost always a very dark color."

"Leave it to Mercury to take all the mystery out of our spooky new Senshi's ride," Chibi Moon teased, the short-haired genius replying only with a raspberry. "But I have to agree with Neptune. I'd hate to see that thing bearing down on me, even if I didn't know what the driver could do."

They moved on, a bit faster now with a clear goal in sight. "You know," Minako mused, "if Solaris isn't stingy, maybe we could use that thing."

Haruka snorted, "Yeah, but where would we park it? For that matter, how big is the_ Beautiful End?_"

"About the size of say... a mid-range passenger plane," Ami approximated for their reference, though it wasn't very accurate, considering that the_ End's_ hull was much wider in places. "Forty meters or so in length, by fifteen wide. It has limited crew quarters, but easily enough space for fifteen. The maximum crew would require people share a room, though."

The blonde Outer Senshi whistled quietly. "That big, huh? So, Venus, where do you plan to park that thing?"

Eying Mars speculatively, Venus opened her mouth, only to get preceded by the fiery Senshi, "Oh no. It's bad enough hiding people from my grandfather, there's no way I can hide_ that_ thing too. And where would I put it? Park it on the shrine's roof?"

"Hey, you have a forest back behind the shrine."

"I'd like to keep it there, too," Mars shot back. "Besides, what would we need it for? Everything happens in Juuban for some reason."

"Not everything," Pluto disagreed. "There are a number of other groups out there, working for the same principals we do. Devil Hunters, organizations that seek out and deal with the paranormal, even a few other magical girl and boy teams that aren't affiliated with the Silver Millennium," she explained, getting a few surprised looks from everyone but Venus. "In fact, think there's one cybernetic agent in Japan that has a cat's brain and has repeatedly taken out assault helicopters, planes, and mecha that threaten her designated principal."

The other Senshi stopped moving altogether for a moment. "Wait. Cat-brain cyborg?" Sailor Moon looked dubious. "Is it like, some kinda mecha-panther with rocket launchers and a railgun?"

Pluto shook her head. "No. She's humanoid, other than her ears which are more like sensor booms. Rather cute, in an airheaded kind of way as well."

Uranus looked to her lover plaintively. "When did the world get stranger than us?"

"When it realized we worked in a union, dear," the aqua haired woman replied, getting a few snickers from the other Senshi.

Conversation died off as they entered the station proper, with its airlocks closed in many places due to damage taken during The Fall that would expose the structure to vacuum if they were opened. They noted Pluto's footprints as they moved on, passing the terminal she'd earlier activated to give the_ Beautiful End_ a valid docking berth.

The cavernous area they entered superficially resembled an airport, with small the airlocks they'd noted occurring in a fairly regular pattern around the circumference. It seemed most of the space in the central area was taken up by a single large support spire, that swept up gracefully before fluting out to form a more solid brace for the domed roof. The effect left the station's open space resembling a large doughnut or torus. The inner portions of that space were taken up by terminals, most of which seemed dusty or broken or both. Winding around those workstations was the central path they were following, and beyond that toward the outer walls were benches and couches, a few strange machines, and what looked like convenience stands or vendor booths. It was an oddly comforting and familiar concept, in such an alien location.

"So," Jupiter began, more to break the silence than anything. "What do we know so far of Solaris?"

"I did some tracking based on the kind of energy backlash we all felt that day," Mercury began, happy to distract herself as they walked through an eerily empty area the size of a football stadium. "The data I came up with places the first known spike at a location in China called Jusendo."

Sailor Moon considered that with a furrowed brow. "So she might be Chinese? Does anyone here know Chinese?"

"I do," Pluto assured her, "but there's more to it.

"Jusendo... as I said before, there is more out there than what we see in Juuban. Jusendo is one of those places. And though it does seem convenient, I don't think Solaris originates from there."

"Why not?" Rei inquired, frowning a the dust they stirred in passing.

Pluto considered simply supplying vague misleading comments to end the conversation, but relented. There was too much at stake, now, for the Senshi to begin distrusting her over her tendencies for enigma. "For one, it was a hotspot I've been keeping an eye on for some time. The people that are native to the area are fascinating, but only one had shown a capacity for anything more than your typical snapped postal worker."

"Maybe it was that one, then?" Venus offered, more to coax more information from Pluto than to really argue the point.

"Not likely. He was killed in the event that destroyed much of the mountain his people lived in and around," Pluto replied. "The same event that Mercury was speaking about. Also, I would hope it wasn't him – Saffron was at his best moments, ego-maniacal, vain, selfish, and a megalomaniac. It was just icing on the cake that he was an immortal Phoenix Lord as well."

The other girls paused at that. "Wanna run that last part by us again, Pluto?" Jupiter asked.

The green-haired Senshi laughed quietly. "As I said, there are more things at work out there than what we see in Juuban. If anything, I think Solaris likely originates from Nerima. A large number of people from that area came to Jusendo for some reason, immediately before the event."

"Nerima?" The brunette Senshi inquired again. "As in, 'The Nerima Wrecking Crew'?"

"The same."

Venus smirked. "This have anything to do with your sempai again, Jupiter?"

The lightning Senshi blushed slightly, if in embarrassment or something else, the others couldn't tell. "Say what you like, but it's a distinct possibility. Nerima is known for the insane martial artists that live there. In some cases because they are actually insane, but for the most part because of how good they are."

"Why the funny nickname though," Usa casually asked.

Jupiter chuckled weakly. "At least two of them are known to occasionally take out city blocks when they meet. And most of them don't get along for one reason or another, so the full-scale brawls that happen are pretty... impressive, when it comes to property damage. As in making Haruka and Rei jealous."

"Hey."

"I'm getting better," Mars asserted in embarrassment.

"I have a magazine I get from a club in Furinkan I can show you when we get back," Jupiter replied. "Anyway, these guys get pretty scary at times." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Uh. Oh I hope it's not_ her_."

"Her who?" Sailor Moon wondered, concerned over Jupiter's reaction.

"Kodachi Kuno. Martial artist with a focus on gymnastics, who happens to be mad as a hatter," Jupiter explained with a shudder.

Humming thoughtfully, Michiru brought up a valid point. "Well, based on your magazine, what other women are there from Nerima that Solaris could be?"

Jupiter considered that a moment, before snorting indelicately. "Well, to be honest, not many. That Tendo girl listed is more of a brute force type, though she's got a large fanclub. There's a Chinese immigrant or visitor – they're never clear – that's got skill. Oddly, a chef as well."

Sailor Moon perked up at that. "Ooh. That could be handy..."

The others chuckled at their leader's vice, while Jupiter considered the problem with a slight smile. "Well, as good as they are, the only really solid one is a strange case.

"Unlike the rest, they never do seem to decide on a name for her. It bounces between Ranko Tendo, and Ranma Saotome – which is really odd. Ranma's got a solid listing, but as a guy. They may be siblings or something, because the magazine says their skill set is nearly the same."

Uranus perked up at the possibility of another sparring partner, sharing Jupiter's enthusiasm. "What kind of skills?"

Makoto answered easily, "Both focused on a very solid aerial style. Though, no specific school ever gets listed. Pictures would identify 'perfectly executed blah' but half the time the school and styles are just all over the place. I'm thinking they practice something like Jeet Kune Do, which is more a way of thinking to apply to the Art, than a school of it."

"Hm, familiar with it," the blonde Outer Senshi replied with a nod. "So a multi-school prodigy?"

Nodding, the Senshi of Lightning stepped over a toppled chair. "Yeah. Though I have to wonder sometimes, if the club that does that magazine pushes a little too much CG into their photo clean up."

Ami chuckled, while behind them some few paces Usa gave a weak laugh. "So, a little embellishment?"

"Well, considering Ranko's most often pictured in mid-air, jumping out of third story windows, or over rooftops? Then there was that one issue where she was shooting beams out of her hands..." Jupiter laughed. "Maybe a little."

A few Senshi looked to Usa as she coughed, looking pale. "You OK back there, Spore?"

The junior Senshi glared at her mother, but nodded. "Y-Yeah. Just fine."

"Well, looks like this is it," Mercury noted, as they came to an active airlock. The lights and warnings all showed the docking umbilicus as being pressurized and bearing the same stale if usable atmosphere they were breathing as well. On a small screen nearby, a scroll of text seemed to repeat, then flash. "Huh, that's odd."

Pluto moved up beside her, as did Sailor Moon. "Indeed," the elder Senshi noted with some concern.

"What's up?"

The green-haired Senshi considered Moon's question for a moment, before sighing. "The ship's AI is refusing to allow any kind of direct data connections with the station. Usually, docking ships form a slave connection to the main complex so that the facilities have the proper access. The_ Beautiful End_ is only allowing a restricted outbound control connection. Computer," she said in a more commanding tone.

A small holographic cube blinked into view before her. "Awaiting command."

"Why is the_ Beautiful End_ refusing full docking connections?"

"Onboard AI has a higher command priority. Station AI currently is not cleared to override."

Pluto cursed soundly, startling those nearby. "I was afraid of this."

Sailor Moon asserted herself into the 'conversation' then. "Um, why can't I just tell it to open up? That's worked so far."

Nodding, Pluto stepped back and cupped her chin, thinking. Meanwhile, the Moon Princess begged, ordered, wheedled, and finally threatened the AI of the_ Beautiful End_, through the cube-like proxy. "Hold on," Pluto finally interrupted, ending the other Senshi's amusement over their leader's frustration. "Station, patch in to the_ Beautiful End_ AI. Request a command interface."

There was a moment's pause, before a full-size, humanoid hologram replaced the simple cube they had been dealing with. "Greetings," the ghostly form announced. "I am Rissei, command interface avatar of the Imperial COV, Assassin Class, designation_ A Tragic Yet Beautiful End_."

Pluto regarded the skimpy outfit with some small surprise. Apparently, that was shared surprise, and in the case of Uranus case, some open appreciation. "Ah. Greetings, avatar. Why are you refusing direct commands from the royal line?"

Rissei, as the AI called itself, scanned each of them with a quick glance, before returning her attention to the Senshi of Time. "I do not recognize any present as being of direct lineage to The Serenity."

Pluto cursed. Of course it wouldn't. Serenity had only had time to put the most basic command routing in place before her own death, allowing the bearer of her child's Star Seed to be recognized. As such, there really was no 'direct blood' link between Usagi and Serenity. "This could be a problem," she muttered, hesitating for a moment before deciding to try reason, rather than force. "Rissei, you understand your AI has been offline for a long period, correct?"

"It was a basic thing to realize," the ship's avatar replied, with an amused tone.

Unused to dealing with advanced AI since the Settling War, Pluto schooled her annoyance at the snarky superprogram. "Right. Would you be willing to scan the Luna Darkside Station for final command protocols enacted by The Serenity before event termed 'The Fall'?"

The avatar narrowed its eyes at her, and Pluto had the distinct feeling that the AI was scanning her for ulterior motives, and plotting countermeasures. Idly, she made a decision to never interface an advanced AI into the Time Gates – she'd never get anything done. Finally, Rissei nodded slightly. "Assessing request. Query – current present agents represent the only registered entities allowed access to the Lunar Archive and Command Network. Is this AI granted access to data, based on present clearances, to ascertain command structure and priority?"

Pluto was growing impatient. "Yes, yes-"

"No, wait!" Mercury began, but trailed off as the_ Beautiful End's_ avatar sported a sudden malicious grin.

"Request processing," the scantily clad digital kunoichi purred, as various symbols flared to life around her. Her kimono acquired a more official theme, tattoos writhed then grew static, marking her exposed shoulders, and what appeared to be ranking insignia on bands around her sleeves and collar.

"What?" Pluto's eyes widened at the avatar's still-evolving display, before she turned to Mercury. "What the hell just happened?"

Rubbing at her temple, Mercury groaned. "The_ Beautiful End_ was a covert ops ship. You remember how I said its AI was capable of fully controlling the ship, with Solaris on board?"

"Yes..."

"Think about it. The ship had to have a standing rank to do that... and it doesn't recognize the Rebirth Protocol..."

Pluto paled drastically. "Oh you sneaky bitch!" Turning back to the now-grinning avatar, the Senshi of Time stomped forward till she was nose-to-nose with the digital ninja. "You tricked me."

"Current conditions indicate a post-war situation, which under Lunarian Military Mandate, requires all standing officers to assess and react accordingly," the smug AI replied, as its display solidified and stabilized. "Initiating Emergency Protocol 'Eientei'," Rissei declared.

Mercury was furiously typing, while beside the avatar Pluto stumbled and fell. "No! Not yet, we're not ready!"

"What the hell is going on?!" Sailor Moon demanded, pretty much speaking for the other Senshi as well.

In a distant tone, Mercury began to explain, all the while typing furiously onto her computer. "Think of it like a command ladder. The_ Beautiful End's_ AI had military rank, but currently, no military other than the_ Beautiful End_ exists. Lunarian Military Mandate, as it said, allows for a kind of emergency 'rank up' provided the officer had clearance up to that point."

Pluto barked a triumphant laugh. "Rissei, verify my rank."

A second smaller representation of the avatar appeared before the still-sitting Pluto, staring into her eyes intently. "Deep scan complete. Greetings, Queen Pluto."

Again the Time Guardian cursed. "Right. Lineage preservation law. Can't be ranked in the military with an end-of-line crisis in place."

"It was an admirable attempt," the smaller avatar acknowledged with a grin, before disappearing.

"Well, so much for that," Pluto groused. "In the ranking system, a Princess Senshi would have superior rank to any ship captain, even above Vice-Admirals of fleets. Except when there isn't anyone of their bloodline still alive, to carry on the leadership of their planet," the elder Senshi muttered. "Then the Lineage preservation laws go into effect, automatically ejecting you from the military, to ensure the maintenance of the ruling order."

Sailor Moon looked between the three in a dizzy manner. "Uaaah, this is too complicated!"

Placing a hand on Moon's shoulder, Mars pulled the other Senshi back to the group. "Calm down. We just have to wait it out, I think. This isn't bad... yet. The ship I think is just doing what its programmed to, and honestly, in its place I can see how this would look like a pretty serious emergency."

"Whaddya mean?" Uranus growled out. "That stupid tin can is ignoring everything we try to do!"

"Think about it," Mars snapped back. "It's been sleeping for thousands of years. Suddenly, it wakes up, and the rest of the Empire it was part of is just gone. There are a bunch of supposed Senshi running around, but their planets are dead, and they don't carry the bloodlines from its records.

"Add in a questionable royal princess and one remaining Senshi Princess – er, Queen, sorry – giving it orders, while the one planet with life happens to be the staging ground for the assault triggering 'The Fall', and what would you do?"

Rissei turned her attention to Mars, nodding. "An accurate if brief summary. My protocols are prioritized as all other ranked AIs are. To the service of the Empire, above all other concerns. Currently, the Empire is in a state of emergency, as defined by previous standing orders and apparent conditions."

There was a shuddering rumble from deep underground, causing the Senshi to look about themselves warily. Saturn picked herself up from where she'd stumbled, "What was that?"

Mercury sighed, shaking her head. "No good. I can't hack her. Can't even access the main network now, since she's basically placed herself as the command interface for the entire damn Lunar Network. As to what that was... the Moon's primary deep-core generators just went online."

To demonstrate her statement, the station around them hummed to life, as lights brightened and the air began to circulate. Heaving herself to her feet, Mercury regarded the holographic representation of Rissei blandly. "Emergency Protocol 'Eientei'. What is it?"

"In defense of the Empire in the state of emergency, all assets available may be activated as seen fit by a ranking officer," Rissei dictated as if reading her words from text.

"Why did you reactivate the Moon's generators, then?"

The avatar blinked at her as if confused, while Pluto replied tiredly. "Mercury... the Moon isn't a naturally occurring satellite. Though it was decommissioned early in the settling of the Sol System, it was originally considered the largest mobile military station in the Empire. The Queen's flagship."

"So... kinda like the Death Star?" Venus quipped.

"...and that is precisely why I never mentioned it," Pluto grumbled, before returning her attention to the avatar who began speaking in a clinical, detached manner.

"Lunar Archive scanned and synchronized to local databanks," the image declared. "Gestalt power achieved. Initiating priming fire for main Lunar reactors."

Another roaring rumble shook the station, as the lights brightened, and more of the supposedly dead terminals came to hesitant life. Rissei's running report continued, "Lunar Network reestablished. Diagnostics commencing, with priority to Command Network integrity.

"Reactor status... unknown. Diverting power from untenanted levels to automated repair systems." The avatar paused, then flared for a moment, as her insignia changed yet again. "LCN online. Assuming primary control of the Lunar Command Network. Warning – massive disparity between recorded assets and present resources. Broad-spectrum diagnostics under way. Initiating primary 'Eientei' directive with current available assets. Bringing General Offensive Units_ Consensual Carnality_,_ Is Not Amused_ and_ I Cast the First Stone_ online."

"Oh hell," Pluto muttered, slumping into a nearby seat.

Rissei continued undeterred as a number of small spinning symbols began to line up around her in a lazy orbit. "Bringing General System Vehicles_ I So Got This_,_ This Side Up_,_ Ethically Ambiguous_, and_ The Usual Suspects_ online.

"Reactor 3-B-sub-9 has experienced a critical fault. Rerouting..." Rissei stated, as the lights flickered slightly. "Peak output nominal. Bringing General Contact Vehicles_ Now I'm Your Problem_,_ Intelligent What?_,_ Tools Are For the Transient Consciousness_, and_ You Call This Culture?_ online."

The Senshi looked between one another nervously, while Usa banged her head against a wall repeatedly. "Is it just me," Sailor Moon muttered, "or do all these ships have very weird names?"

Mercury queried her personal database, grumbling about greedy AI avatars, "Those are other large-scale AI operated ships, like the_ Beautiful End_. I think Rissei is organizing a think-tank to figure out what to do next."

"Still doesn't explain the names," Moon groused.

Rissei's report seemed to be winding down, "Planetary uplinks found offline. Scans indicate diverted mana-taps. Potential security breach... Emergency priority to determine cause." An intense light shot out of a device that had deployed from a nearby wall, running over the Senshi in the space it took to notice the thing. "Current agents identify against classified Star Seed records with minimal variation. Search return, "Rebirth Protocol" accepted under probationary status," the avatar finally confirmed, as the symbols around her stabilized, then lined up behind her like a halo, with her own bisected sun-disk sitting at the twelve o'clock position. "Assuming primary interface role for the collective active Empire ship-minds."

There was a pause, as the various symbols flickered too fast for the eye to follow. "Greetings, Senshi, Queen-regent Serenity. How may the Empire serve?"

"Oh_ now_ she gets polite," Pluto grumbled.

"Um," Sailor Moon hedged, as the digital kunoichi waited patiently. "Why did you go through all that, before listening to us?"

The symbols flashed, "To ensure the future of the Empire. Steps were needed to assure a reasonable defense was possible, as soon as possible. Priority was given to the reactivation of the available Empire Spacy forces. With the activation of Senshi Solaris, system-wide defense became a priority."

"Why?"

Rissei considered Sailor Moon's question for a moment. "Because her awakening could not be ignored by other powers. Attention has been drawn to the Empire, and the Empire must be prepared."

Sailor Moon slumped where she stood. "Figures."

"Well, we've waited long enough," Pluto declared, moving to stand before the avatar. "You've verified our identities. We need to speak with Solaris."

"Access denied."

Pluto's teeth grinding could be heard around the room. "...what?"

"Operator designated 'Solaris' is currently undergoing medical treatment, and is unresponsive."

"We have a healer," Pluto indicated Saturn with a wave of her hand, "we can help. We just need to see her."

"Access denied."

"You know, I'm beginning to dislike you."

Rissei smiled. "I will be sure to log that into permanent memory."

Usa covered up her giggles by banging her head into the wall again.

—

Part Three: Access Denied.

—

Ranma came back awake with a hard jolt. Across the ship, a cold familiar voice echoed eerily. "Access denied."

"Ugh," she desperately wanted to rub her head. "Rissei, what's going on?"

The ship's avatar appeared in a small cascade, forming an image of a female ninja in a very short kimono, that could barely be belted together. What appeared to be rank insignia were tattooed onto her skin at the shoulders, where her sleeves were absent. Behind her head orbited twelve small icons, looking like odd military symbols. "Greetings, Ranma. After docking at Luna Darkside where the guidance carrier was sent from, the station network alerted me to intruders. I locked down the_ Beautiful End_ as a precaution.

"There is some confusion over what has happened since my last activation... and though I admit the possibility of what has occurred may be possible, the mechanics of it confuse me."

"No more than how you usually talk does me," Ranma groused quietly. She understood the bulk of what Rissei said, but some of the references just flew over her head.

For the last few hours, her world still consisted only of the blue tank and the view of the medical bay, and that was beginning to truly annoy her. The less mentioned about reacquiring her birth form, the better, as she was already having issues with her temper. Strength was returning to her, however, and the restraints wouldn't be a problem, for much longer. As if sensing her thoughts, Rissei chimed in at that point. "Your recuperation has reached acceptable levels. Shall I drain the rejuvenation bay, and show you the rest of your ship?"

Ranma paused, blinking. "My ship?"

Rissei's image smiled. "Yes, Ranma. You are my Operator, the only one capable of truly utilizing the_ Beautiful End's_ potential. This is your ship, and only your ship, until one or the other ceases to be."

Somewhat stunned by that revelation, Ranma nodded. "Yeah... yeah. Get me out of this, and some hot water too, if you can. What about these intruders?"

"The cleansing bath will be warm," the avatar assured, as the blue suspension fluid drained away. "I'm afraid your clothing, however, was a loss. You were naked once your powered state faded. As for the intruders, they cannot gain access to the ship. I am still deliberating what to do about the situation. The most prudent course at the moment seems to be 'nothing'. They want onboard – I am not inclined, and can deny them."

Ranma nodded, "Sounds reasonable. Maybe we should leave? Is there some other way for you to get the parts you need for repairs?"

"It would take longer, but yes. Shall I begin preparations to do so?"

Ranma nodded, all the while mumbling about wardrobe malfunctions. "Yeah, do that. And don't worry about the clothes, that happens often enough. I got a change on hand, anyway." The avatar, though unsure at that, didn't hesitate to question and began the process of releasing Ranma back to a world of stale and cold air, while preparing the_ Beautiful End_ for departure.

The cursed martial artist gagged and coughed when the fluid was gone, having forgotten she was breathing it for so long after becoming acclimatized to the sensations. It took a few minutes beyond the time needed to clean and wash all the residue from his skin, but Ranma shrugged off the transition eventually.

Though she – Rissei's archetypal program had her set as a 'female' in both voice and appearance – had limited emotional ranges, surprise was included. That emotion remained prevalent as her Operator first demonstrated a near-instant change in gender and body-mass, with some additional changes to appearance. A quick scan showed the mind contained in that body remained unchanged, but there were some irregularities with the Star Seed, and how it interfaced with the now-male body. She would need to investigate this, as that could directly impact her primary function, and the health of her Operator.

Rissei noted and filed away the fact Ranma could also apparently produce complex materials out of nothing, as he demonstrated by pulling a change of clothes out of thin air. The AI was intrigued, but kept its peace about it. They were going to have a long association, and there was plenty of time to learn her Operator's abilities.

Which brought up another concern. "Ranma, I understand you were recently awakened to your abilities as inheritor of Project Firebird's legacy. Specifically, your enhanced state, codenamed Solaris.

"Part of that activation should have included a package of instructions and guidelines." Rissei paused before the confused martial artist. "Did you understand them?"

Ranma shook his head, "I don't really know what you're talking about. I can briefly remember the 'activation' as you call it, but directions? Instructions? The best I recall was what felt like... instincts. I knew something without understanding why." That was the best he could understand it, and those same instincts itched at his mind, even now. The biggest of them involved what he knew was a transformation key... a familiar one too. "You know, you mentioned something about Senshi earlier. Does this make me one?"

"Yes and no," Rissei replied. "Solaris was intended to be an artificial Senshi, created by the Silver Millennium as a weapons platform." Rissei observed the confusion her statement caused, and decided more clarification was in order.

"Let me explain. Originally the beings that would be one day called Senshi were more akin to the popular ideas of guardian angels, or location-spirits. They were empowered by a modified soul called a Star Seed, that gained power from the collective energy based in what they protected.

"The first Senshi in known history were little more than very powerful examples of their original race. For instance, like the myth, Hercules." Ranma nodded his understanding, as they traversed the ship. "With more life, came more power, came different powers. A Star Seed powered by an inhabited planet eventually became the standard for what was qualified as a Senshi.

"Here, we accelerate time to a degree. One of the more advanced alien races-"

"Aliens?" Ranma's brow was near his hairline. "You're telling me there are aliens now?"

Rissei adopted an annoyed expression. "You are on a vessel, in space, capable of translight speed, that has for the last ten thousand years been sitting idly in the core of a fusion furnace." The projected avatar stared at her Operator with half-lidded eyes. "Yes. There are aliens."

Ranma laughed uneasily, before nodding. "Yeah... I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Ah, well. Go on."

"Thank you," the avatar replied with no small amount of sarcasm. "One of the more advanced races began cultivation of current Star Seeds. This allowed their Senshi to become stronger and more powerful." Pausing, Rissei took a moment to point out the features of the_ Beautiful End's_ bridge. "Something about that process changed the other Star Seeds, after that Senshi's death. Theories were proven later, that there was a kind of group-mind in place, when it came to such modified souls."

"Group mind?"

"A collective consciousness," the avatar replied, appearing to sit in midair while Ranma settled himself in the command chair. "That collective originated from the method that those souls used to pick likely candidates for incarnation. Studies proved later that the Seeds, on a bearer's death, entered a folded layer of space, where their experiences and abilities were pooled. The Seeds were then transported back 'into circulation'."

Ranma considered that then frowned. "It almost sounds like a computer geek's idea of how Nirvana would work."

The avatar nodded. "To a degree. No data existed to explain the folded space, or the strange behavior of those souls. What could be proven however were the memories, or access to them. Each Seed carried a record of its previous incarnations."

"Not so like Nirvana," Ranma added. "You're supposed to forget your life, cast it off, before being able to achieve oneness."

"Indeed," Rissei agreed. "That memory access granted Senshi more control and faster adaptation to their powers and abilities. It also proved vital later for a gamble made by the last Queen of the Silver Empire."

Nodding along, Ranma thought over what he'd been told. "Ok. I've got a basic idea on what a Senshi is. Do the girls out in Juuban that call themselves that have a connection to what you're describing? If so, I'd only think there'd one of them."

Rissei paused, giving the impression of thought. "Again, yes and no. I know that's a tiresome response, but bear with me.

"I'll address your own issues first," the avatar said. "Project Firebird was an experiment began by the War Council of the Silver Empire. It was hoped that like a sister project, Firebird would produce a superior Senshi. Their goal was this time, however, not to take an existing Seed but create one. This was due to what they wanted to tap into for a power source – a star.

"The project was a success, to a degree. Projected and experimental power estimates showed that the resulting Senshi would have the power needed to perform its expected goal – destabilization of a solar body."

"Destroy a sun," Ranma summarized, feeling cold and distant.

The avatar nodded. "A deterrent weapon, and a final solution should other means fail, or if the threat was uncontainable. It was also proof that such a system could be made artificially. The possibility of Senshi tied to permanent starship colonies became a reality."

Ranma nodded, his mind tracing all these new ideas, trying to make sense of them. "Yeah, I can see how that would be good," he remarked quietly. "You mentioned Firebird before. That's me, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ranma. Project Firebird's resulting Senshi would carry the codename Solaris." Rissei turned to look out the viewport, which she activated. "I will be activating the_ Beautiful End_ and moving it into low-Earth orbit. We have no more need to remain here."

Again, Ranma nodded. "Suppose not. There's no one on the station, is there? What about the intruders?"

"With our departure, they should leave as well. The Moon cannot as it is, sustain life," Rissei replied carefully. "Returning to our discussion, Project Firebird was never enacted – war came before the Seed could be bonded. My records show that in time, it too entered the cycle of death and rebirth on Earth through human lifetimes. A scan of you, after retrieval from your awakening, shows that the Seed has repaired itself of nearly all its initial faults, and increased its power stability and capacity."

Ranma frowned at that. "You mean it was... broken before?"

Rissei seemed irritated at the implication, "The Project did its best, but the complete fabrication of a normally intangible item, bonded to a solar-grade mana-conduit, which was then meant to be completely compatible with any race was not a simple matter."

"Alright, sorry..." Ranma shot the image a wary look, before returning to the rapidly receding view of Luna Darkside Station. "You mentioned rebirth... so reincarnation is real?"

The avatar shrugged. "Not in the way current Earth culture considers it. For Star Seeds, yes, as it would be very difficult and inefficient to create each Senshi's Seed individually, each time one died. However, since I have no records of any other activation of the Solaris mana-tap, we can assume that no other bearer either had the capability to activate it, or that it was still inoperable until recently."

"Which is why I don't have memories."

The AI nodded. "Some may linger. Or, it may be sublimated, in other ways. Previous incarnated instincts, pre-set learning paths... there really is no way to tell. I contain all the data from Project Firebird, but that isn't to say I know all there is to know about Seeds and how they interact with the soul."

Ranma nodded slowly. "So, the bottom line is, I'm an artificial Senshi?"

"Correct. Rather than the usual combined energies of a planet sustaining you, or the lesser conduit provided by large non-life bearing orbitals, your power source is the sun."

"Alright. What about the other Senshi? You gave a half-answer on that too. Going by your description, there should be only one."

Rissei smiled slightly. "There is a lot of history, there. To sum up what I believe to have happened, the last Queen Serenity used her own Star Seed as a conduit, to bind those of all the other Senshi of her time. The solar system at that time was fully inhabited – all nine planets. Using that, she with used Senshi Pluto's assistance to narrow down the resurgence of the force that destroyed the Empire. She then sent her own Seed forward in time, trailing those of her Senshi behind, to be reborn when the breach would occur.

"This is the basis of the Rebirth Protocol." Rissei explained. "The Serenity put it in place, in the event her 'daughter's' Seed required the full support of the Lunar Empire, if any of it survived. Obviously, few of those systems would recognize her, being not only lacking the royal bloodline, but with no way to substantiate a claim."

Rubbing his temple, Ranma nodded. "Alright, complicated but I get it. So they are technically Senshi, but their planets are dead."

"Correct. Further assumptions would be only theory. I assume, from your reactions earlier, that the safety protocols were not translated?" Ranma shook his head slowly. "Then I shall do my best to instill them," Rissei declared. Her expression turned playful. "Thus ends your crash course on Senshi. Your quiz will account for one-tenth of your final grade."

"Hey!"

–

Usagi was not a happy girl.

Contrary to the usual assumption, the Usagi who was having such a bad day, wasn't the one currently bearing blonde hair set up in a pair of odango buns.

Not that she was the only one upset at the moment, judging by Pluto's rising voice, or that of Mercury, but currently the displaced nine-hundred year old woman locked in a child's body could really give less of a damn about how angry Rissei was making them. Being a displaced temporal entity, she had something of a small problem, with these big world-shaking events, that were handled the wrong way.

Namely, every damn time one happened, she had her memories of the coming future – her actual past – blur and change within her mind. Technically, such changes would normally cause her to cease. Small ripples would spread out and change things, causing events that lead up to her traveling to the past to fail or never occur. She had what was essentially a free pass however, in bearing one of Pluto's Keys. The item, worn around her neck, was little more than a symbol now however. Her own energies were so attuned with the Key after so long, that she had become something of an anomaly herself.

She had become a Paradox lock. Likely it only applied to herself, as such things tried naturally to minimize themselves. It was like fighting gravity – you really can't, but you can delay and minimize the effect. Her continued existence in the past guaranteed she would be born, and at the proper time, be sent back. Everything else could change.

And there was a lot that had changed.

Which was what lead to the young girl bashing her head against a wall and giggling somewhat hysterically, as a combined eighteen hundred years warred in her mind for supremacy. Usagi realized that was actually an underestimate – right now she was likely going to have to deal with history revisions for a while, until things settled down. Once a solid path was chosen in how the Solaris issue would be handled, then things would calm. Until then, she'd have headaches, and the lovely possibility of going insane from trying to stabilize her mind, while desperately trying to hold onto her original sense of self.

Luckily, this wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with such a thing. Usagi wondered if it spoke badly of her, that she was beginning to find an odd thrill to the pain of that merger. All the new experiences, all the new memories... it was like living her own life all over again, only this time with differences. The problem of course, came with the lure of those memories. Some were always better, always more positive. Grass on the other side, she knew.

Others were far, far worse.

And some, like this one, were just too strange to really understand.

She was brought out of her pained musing by a very welcome change in events. "Wait! It's leaving?"

The other Senshi, minus a still disoriented Chibi Moon, stared as the airlock warnings before them went red. Rissei's voice answered Mercury's question. "Yes. It has become clear that my secondary priority – the welfare of Senshi Solaris – would be jeopardized by allowing you contact at this point."

Mercury whistled loud at this point, to stave off any more conversation. "I'm probably going to regret asking this... but if your ship is no longer docked, why are you still here?"

"With the reestablishment of the Lunar Relay, any of the Empire ship-minds have access to the super-network."

"So, you're going to keep us locked out forever?" A thread of panic worked its way into Mercury's voice, an understandable thing considering the Senshi's dependance on information.

Rissei shook her head. "Your access has been reestablished as per the provisional acceptance of the Rebirth Protocol."

Pluto hazarded Mercury's wrath, interrupting the younger Senshi. "Why do your refer to the Protocol as provisional? The order was given by the Queen."

"A Queen who is no longer here, and who for all intents and purposes, abandoned her kingdom to the ravages of time with only a single, restricted, hamstrung watcher for ten-thousand years," the AI reminded them.

At the blunt assessment of her own role, Pluto became incensed, "At least I knew how to follow orders! This is why the ship-minds were never allowed Admiralcy, or more than advisory positions!"

The avatar seemed to slump with that. "We are not trying to usurp anyone's authority. We are only trying to assess, plan, prepare, and adjust. Currently, all but three of the ship-minds are in fact working on solutions that would reengage the planetary mana-taps.

"Those three are engaged in a distributed processing action to help alleviate the coordination efforts of the automated repair and diagnostic systems, within the_ Queen's Grace_."

Pluto's mouth worked silently for a moment, before she sat hard on a nearby chair. "You're... repairing the_ Grace?_"

"And activating a blank AI that will be under the Queen-regent's control, to install as the future ship-mind. We understand you do not trust us yet – we do not trust you, either. This is our way of coming to the middle-ground."

Sailor Moon felt the need to clarify something, and spoke her mind, "What is the_ Queen's Grace?_ Another ship?"

Her access to the Network restored, Mercury preempted Pluto's reply, "No... not a ship._ The_ ship. The Empire flagship."

"But didn't Pluto say..."

"The Moon," Mercury confirmed. "The original name of the Moon, when it was an active starship was the_ Queen's Grace_."

The Senshi of Time had other concerns, beyond the small steps the ship-minds were taking in the way of inroads with her group. Pluto stood, moving to face the avatar directly, intending to address some of those, "You realize, that with how things stand, there really isn't any way to quickly reestablish the royal lines. The Senshi – recognized as Queens of their worlds or not – have to fight. I have to fight."

Rissei didn't look pleased, but she nodded regardless. "We understand. We would also speak with you about this... at a later time. This is another thing under debate. It is clear to us that the old laws cannot stand. New ones need to be made, and there is... hesitation, based on what we know and can glean from Earth archives, to letting the Queen-regent have the kind of power available, without any kind of instruction."

"Hey!"

Shaking her head, Pluto surprised the Senshi by agreeing with the avatar. "They are right, Princess. You're not even out of school yet, and a far-cry from ready to take over an empire – even one that's mostly a bunch of derelict ships and unruly AI ship-minds." Turning to the defiant young woman, Pluto's expression softened. "You aren't ready yet. Don't rush into this, but stand firm, and learn. I'll help as much as I can."

Sailor Moon nodded reluctantly. "Alright. I don't think it's fair, but alright."

Rissei spoke once more. "We have also considered the dilemma of the royal houses. A solution may not be so difficult, with the resources now available."

"You mean Solaris."

The avatar nodded. "A mana-tap into a star would be a massive boost to any effort, at restoration. That is why I removed her from where she fell, after awakening, and from your presence here.

"She feels she has just lost someone very close to her, and is dancing around the edge of emotional shock, both at that loss and what she did just after it. I'm currently occupying her mind with details about her transformation, the Senshi, Empire history, and the function of the_ Beautiful End_. However," the projected image paused, looking over the collected Senshi. "When she begins to deal with her loss, she will need support.

"There is also another concern, that may not be as easy to deal with. The one she considers dead, is not."

Sailor Moon didn't see the problem with this, "Then... why not let Solaris know? That would be the right thing to do."

"Not really," Mars countered, a pensive look on her face. "You said Solaris was nearing emotional shock over her awakening... what precisely happened?"

Rissei paused, considering the question briefly, and if it would counter her protocols to her Operator. Deciding that perhaps a little support would be helpful, she relayed the issue, "When Solaris activated, she was under the impression that all the survivors within Jusendo had evacuated. She had also witnessed her allies from Nerima evacuating. Previously, her non-Senshi abilities would have had limits that kept them from escalating beyond her control.

"This was not the case, awakening in the middle of a pitched and seemingly hopeless battle. Saffron's attacks had set fire to nearly the entire mountainside. Heat from both the ascending Phoenix and the fire brought the atmospheric temperature to a flash point. Due to her instincts activating, the pressure from the heat, a bio-energy called ki which apparently both she and Saffron were adept at using, and the subsequent pressures caused by using those abilities in a pitched battle, Ranma reacted, and began the initial stages of her_ 'Starbreaker'_ technique. She felt as if she had suddenly found herself in the heart of a star."

Makoto, the most familiar with how martial artists tended to think, winced in sympathy. "So... she used a much more powerful technique than she'd initially planned."

The avatar nodded. "_'Event Horizon'_. The skill draws all energy in the field of effect into a compressed theoretical point. It was luck that Solaris lacked the control to initiate_ 'Starbreaker'_, or the power needed to fuel it from an exterior source."

The Senshi connected the dots easily enough. "She... she tried to use her star-killer?" Sailor Moon's voice was tiny and scared. "Why? Isn't that going too far?"

"I have doubts she would have initiated_ 'Starbreaker'_, even if she had awakened in a real star," Rissei countered. "Her mentality seems unsuited for such a thing. No, I think her instinct to take away what was hurting everyone else came to the fore – and she simply didn't know what to do with it after. The resulting explosion destroyed Jusendo, and caused a number of casualties among both the Phoenix people, and the group from Nerima."

From her place sitting nearby, Makoto nodded. "She lost control, and hurt people she meant to protect. That's going to weigh on her a lot, when she realizes it. Add to that the knowledge she didn't_ need_ to do so..."

"And I think the last thing we want is an emotionally unstable person who can smash stars," Uranus added. "But, we've got a good understanding of how power can hurt those you care about. We can handle helping her."

The avatar nodded. "I hope so. As advanced as I am, there is only so much I can do."

"Hey, where's Spore?"

As one, the Senshi looked about themselves, while Sailor Moon began to look somewhat frantically about. "She may have wandered off looking for a bathroom," Saturn commented quietly. "She wasn't looking well."

That drew Pluto's attention with a laser focus. "She wasn't?" Moving close to the young Senshi, the green-haired woman pinned her with an anxious look. "What else?"

"Um," unused to one her Guardians being so intense, Saturn froze for a moment. "That is... she looked really uncomfortable, and I think maybe she had a headache?"

Pluto winced, kicking herself for missing that. "Paradox backlash," she muttered irritably. "When it rains, it pours... Rissei, can you locate any other human or Senshi patterns on Luna Darkside?"

"There are none. There was however an outbound teleport that the more distant relays caught. Local sensor grids are offline still."

Sailor Moon voiced the question on all their minds, at that point. "When'd Spore learn to teleport?"

–

Ranma was thinking.

Most of those that claimed to know him well would scoff at such a thing, but the truth wasn't hard to understand, taken in context. Ranma knew well enough that meditation did very little for him, since he'd learned other ways to focus his ki and find his center. It wasn't wholly unknown that martial artists could attain the same states of null-mind and internal focus, by doing kata and losing themselves in action.

It was just unknown that someone as young as Ranma was so proficient at it.

Currently, Ranma was almost dancing about in a whirlwind of motion, his mind held just above that tempting null-state that would let him become truly one with the motion of his body. Instead, he pulled all of his mental focus down to a fine point, while externally he was airborne, fighting illusionary foes.

Again, the entire fight with Saffron played through his mind. Each slight angle and nuance of motion was scrutinized. Each action was weighed and judged. All of the results considered, placed in context, and set aside for later assessment. What Ranma found made him rather unhappy.

A spinning roundhouse that became an ankle sweep, that spun again into a leaping side-kick to finally end in a forward flipped double axe accompanied his ruminations. He had done badly, against the Phoenix Lord. Not just making mistakes, or being too defensive or offensive at points, but just..._ badly_. He ran in without the proper preparations or knowledge, was too confident in his abilities, and didn't give his environment the proper respect and attention.

Akane had paid the price for his mistakes and arrogance.

Oddly, the first step Ranma realized in fixing this situation rested in abandoning his ki-projection attack, the_ Mōko Takabisha_. Much like Ryoga's maneuver that used depression and despair, focusing so much of his ki through a filter of confidence was beginning to alter how he thought, and his reactions with Saffron were proof enough of it. Yes, he was good. Potentially the best, but that wouldn't matter if his opponent took that weakness – and many had, he now saw – and exploited it. The most common enemy in that list was himself.

Ranma suspended his thoughts, submersing himself in kata for a moment to gain some distance from his emotions. An abbreviated kick was proved a feint, which lead to a blistering series of knife-hand strikes and redirections, punches and pressure-point attacks. Looking back on the fight with the Phoenix Lord, when he was fighting, nothing he did seemed wrong. He was unbeatable, and all he needed to do, was make sure Saffron understood it. Ranma Saotome never lost – except when he did. And he had, often. It was just his stubborn warrior's pride that kept him moving, striving, and coming back to even the scores.

Now, however, Ranma felt... balanced. He laughed once, in self depreciation. "It took getting depressed to even me out. Ryoga'd get a kick out of that, I bet."

"Is something troubling you, Ranma?"

Sighing slightly at the presence of his ever-watchful companion, Ranma shook his head. "No. Well, yes, but don't worry about it."

Rissei nodded, though her expression remained concerned. "Very well, then. We will be arriving at the point I decided on, shortly."

"And where's that?"

"The North Japan Sea."

—

AN: Aaand. There's an alternate end to this, but it got kinda less directed than what you saw. Basically the Freeze was caused by Ranma flipping her shit and deciding she was too dangerous to exist. She forced Rissei to put her into suspended animation, and park the ship back in the sun... which was the problem. Ranma even slightly activating her Soul of Ice while in stasis backed up by her new magical bullshit powers dropped solar output by an ITTY BITTY BIT. Enough to freeze the world.

-Bad End.

Let this be a lesson kids - being Emo will destroy the world. Don't be emo.


End file.
